Fathers and Sons
by Rowena Zahnrei
Summary: Worf is presumed murdered, his shuttle adrift. With the aid of Data and the Enterprise, Worf's son Alexander heads out to find those responsible. Would Alexander abandon his Federation ideals to avenge his father? What will he and Data find in the Nexus? Set 39 years after 'Generations,' this story features Guinan, Wesley, Dr. Soong, Lal, Tasha Yar, and Q. SWORDFIGHT! Worf vs Data!
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I have no legal claim to _Star Trek_ in any form or to any character, planet, technology, etc. within the official _Star Trek_ universe. Please don't sue me or steal my story! Thanks!

_All that I have, all that I've learned, everything I feel... all this, and more I... I bequeath you, my son. You will carry me inside you... all the days of your life. You will make my strength your own, and see my life through your own eyes, as your life will be seen through mine. The son becomes the father, and the father, the son._

Jor-El (Marlon Brando), _Superman: The Movie_

**Fathers and Sons**

**By Rowena Zahnrei**

Chapter One

"Mr. Sendak," Ambassador Alexander Rozhenko called to his aide. "Nuq 'oH rep'e'?"

The young human glanced up from his work, his eyes scanning the ambassador's busy walls for a chronometer.

Ambassador Rozhenko had filled nearly every blank space of his large, Federation Embassy office with images, posters, plaques, flags, and other mementos and awards that he had collected or been presented with over the course of his more than twenty-five years in office. The bright, eye-catching collages seemed a surprisingly human motif for such a highly respected Klingon, although Sendak supposed a visiting dignitary could interpret the scheme as a display of the ambassador's achievements and experience. In that sense, the colorful walls were a show of prowess, sort of like a peacock displaying his tail, or a lion his teeth. Not that he would ever mention such a notion to the ambassador…

Spotting the chronometer at last, Sendak responded in halting Klingon, "Uh… It's, uh, wa'maH Hutvatlh rep." He winced. "I think. That's nineteen hundred hours, right sir?"

Alexander laughed and clasped his aide's narrow shoulder. "It is, indeed. Your pronunciation is improving, Zacharie."

"Thank you, sir," Sendak said, "although, I haven't had much time to practice this week. That whole issue with the Cromarg strike—"

"Is settled," the ambassador interrupted. "The Cromarg engineers return to work on maSjaj."

"MaSjaj," Sendak repeated carefully. "Monday?"

Alexander smiled, but it was more appraising than congratulatory. Sendak shrank back a little.

"Was I wrong, sir?"

"No," the ambassador said. "No, you were correct. And you know you were correct. But your fear of being wrong in front of me makes you come off like a cringing targ."

Sendak lowered his eyes. Alexander crossed his arms and fixed the nervous human with his firmest gaze. "You need to stop being so hesitant, Zacharie," he said. "And speak with more confidence, even if you are not entirely sure that you are right. Square your shoulders, look me in the eye! You may serve a Federation Embassy, but you are in the Klingon Empire. Your human diffidence and modesty will win you nothing here."

Sendak's pale face flushed and his blue eyes darted all around the room, but finally he managed to look up into the ambassador's face. "Yes, sir," he said, straightening his lanky frame. "I'll try, sir."

Alexander shook his head and strode across the dark wooden floor to stand behind his wide and cluttered desk. The sky outside his window was the warm, dusky pink of a fading sunset. "I suppose that's a start," he said, and turned back to face him. "It's seven o'clock, Mr. Sendak. Get out of here, go home. Tavana and I have a special night planned, and I don't want to stay in this office a moment longer than I have to."

Sendak nodded. "I understand, sir." He started to leave, then stopped and looked back, his posture straight as a pole. "Wa'leS, Ambassador."

Alexander inclined his crested head. "Wa'leS," he said, and grinned. "Until tomorrow." The young human returned his smile and strode out of the room.

Once his aide had gone, Alexander sank into his high-backed leather chair with a sigh. Most humans found themselves intimidated on their first assignment to the Klingon homeworld, but Alexander had a good feeling about Sendak. The boy was far stronger than he seemed, and he was eager to learn Klingon ways. He'd make it just fine on Qo'noS, given time.

Reaching across a pile of data pads, Alexander tapped his computer console, bringing up the rest of the message Tavana had left for him earlier in the afternoon, but which he hadn't had time to finish viewing. Her holographic image appeared over his desk at quarter-scale, wearing the official dress of an imperial prosecutor. Alexander drew in an appreciative breath between his teeth.

Tavana had a hectic schedule that more than matched his own. In fact, it was something of a minor miracle that they both had this particular night free. Yet, despite the stress of her job, her cumbersome robes, and the slight transparency of the holographic image, the woman before him was undeniably attractive. From her delicately crested skull to the lean, muscular curves of her body to her firm, confident stance, there wasn't a shapelier prosecutor in the Empire. But, what caught Alexander's heart was the wry twist of her lips, the glint of humor in her eyes, the playful little smile she showed only to him. These were the things that made her irresistible.

Alexander tapped the console again and his wife's floating image came to life.

"…and the trial's in recess until Tuesday," Tavana's hologram said. "So, if nothing comes up on your end, we're free and clear to meet for dinner. It'll be a double celebration. Our third anniversary and…shh…" She smiled the sly, secretive smile he loved. "The second part's a surprise." She winked and raked her mauve tongue over her sharp teeth. "I'll see you at 20:00."

The picture winked out and Alexander sat back with a broad smile of his own. "A surprise, eh?" He chuckled. "I wonder what she's up to."

A few quick taps on the computer confirmed their 8 p.m. dinner reservations, a few more summoned his personal transport to the main door of the Embassy, and Alexander was finally ready to go.

"Ambassador Rozhenko!"

"Qu'vatlh!" Alexander swore, jumping from his chair and rushing to hang up his heavy ambassadorial robes before he could be snared into some last-minute crisis. Raising his voice, he shouted, "He's not here! The ambassador has left for the night! Whatever it is must wait until morning!"

"But, sir!" Zacharie Sendak skidded to a stop just outside the ambassador's door.

The impatient Klingon glared daggers at his breathless aide. "What is it, Mr. Sendak?" he demanded. "I thought I told you to go home!"

"I was, Ambassador," the young man said, still struggling to catch his breath. "That is, I was on my way. But…but sir, there's news. Terrible news, just received from the Federation Council itself. It's about…about your father."

"What?" Alexander felt as if a rug had been pulled out from under him. Of all the things he'd expected to come out of his aide's mouth, of all the problems that could possibly have come up to keep him from his anniversary date with his wife, news of his father was probably last on the list. "What about my father? What has happened?"

Zacharie bit his lip, his blue eyes wide and pained. "Governor Worf is… I'm afraid he's gone, sir. Missing. They…they think he was abducted and quite…quite possibly..."

"Quite possibly _what_?" Alexander roared, causing the young aide to jump. "Don't beat about the bush, man! This is no Earth-based office where you're expected to spare your superior's feelings! If you wish to work among Klingons, you must learn to act like one! Tell me what you know!"

Zacharie squared his shoulders and looked the anxious Klingon straight in the eye. "They believe Governor Worf may have been murdered, sir," he stated. "Councilor Kho'chi requests your presence for an emergency meeting to be held in her office. You are to join her at your soonest convenience."

Alexander clenched his teeth, his breath coming sharp and quick. Worf…his father…murdered? It was unthinkable!

"How," the ambassador demanded, his voice emerging as a growl from his tightened throat. "How did this happen? Who is responsible?"

"I don't have the details, sir," Zacharie told him, and although his voice stayed firm, his eyes were deep with sympathy. "I—I'm sorry this had to happen on your anniversary, Ambassador. You have my deepest condolences."

"My anniversary…" Alexander squeezed his eyes shut and swore under his breath in seven shades of purple. "Damn it," he rasped. "I will have to contact Tavana. Zacharie, go. Leave, go to your home. And…thank you."

"Sir?"

"For delivering this news to me in person," Alexander said. "You're a good man, Mr. Sendak. Now do as I say, and go home."

"Yes, sir." Zacharie straightened his back and inclined his head in a polite, respectful bow. Then, the young aide turned on his heel and strode out the door, leaving the ambassador alone in his vast office, his face turned to the window where the twilight was cloaking the city beyond in the oncoming shadows of night.

_To Be Continued..._

Reviews Welcome! :)_  
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	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note:** I've been a MASSIVE _Star Trek_ fan my entire life, but ever since I first saw the Season 7 episode "Firstborn" when I was little, I've wanted to tinker with it. I loved that moment when seeing Alexander as an adult made Worf finally realize his son was a real person, not just a frustrating extension of himself, but I wanted more. So, when my friend recently set me a challenge to write a _Star Trek_ story, I decided to use "Firstborn" as a starting block. This story is set in a possible version of the future created by adult-Alexander's visit to the _Enterprise-D_. To create this future, I drew mostly on the "Countdown" graphic novel, in which a re-built Data is Captain of the _Enterprise_ and the Peter David novel _Imzadi_ in which he's a Commodore and uses contractions in his speech; the finale episode "All Good Things..." in which Worf is governor of the H'atoria colony; and Keith R.A. DeCandido's novel _A Time for War, A Time for Peace_, in which Alexander becomes the Federation Ambassador to the Klingon Empire. I hope you enjoy my story!

Chapter Two

_Commodore's Log, Stardate_ _51227.7 [August 15, 2410, 2:00 p.m.] _

_The _Enterprise_ has been dispatched at my request to participate in the investigation of the kidnapping and suspected homicide of Worf, Governor of the Klingon border colony H'atoria. Our hunt for clues will begin with a brief stop at the Klingon homeworld Qo'noS. There, we will be joined by the Governor's son, Alexander Rozhenko, who has taken emergency personal leave from his duties as Federation Ambassador to the Klingon Empire to aid in the search for his father. It has been forty years since I last saw Alexander. Knowing what it is to lose a father, I can't help wishing that our meeting now was under…less painful circumstances. _

"Sir, we're coming up on the Klingon homeworld."

Commodore Data rose from his command chair and took three measured steps toward the viewscreen. The rocky planet ahead took up most of the screen, and was surrounded from pole to pole by the glittering spacebases, busy starports, and swarms of interstellar ships that were the hallmarks of early 25th century civilization. "Very good, Ensign," he said. "Inform the Klingon High Command of the _Enterprise_'s arrival and request permission to enter into standard orbit."

"Aye, sir." The white-haired Andorian bobbed her blue antennae and began entering commands into her navigation console. After a brief pause, she said, "Permission received. Now entering standard orbit."

"Sir," Lieutenant Devna, the Orion security chief, spoke up from behind him. "Incoming message from the Federation Embassy. Our passenger is already standing by for transport."

"That was quick." Data's executive officer, Commander Akira Kinoshita, stood up and joined the pale-skinned android by the viewscreen. "Shall I go to greet him, sir?"

Data tilted his head slightly, as if considering something, then said, "I'll join you, Commander. Lieutenant Commander Asil, you have the bridge. Be prepared to depart for H'atoria as soon as our passenger is aboard."

"Aye, sir." As the Vulcan second officer rose from her Ops station to take the command seat, Data and Kinoshita entered the turbolift.

"Transporter Room 1," Kinoshita said as the doors closed, and glanced at his commanding officer. "Sir," he said once they were moving, "far be it for me to question your command decisions, but I've been wondering why you volunteered the Federation's flagship for this mission. From what I can tell, you haven't shared word one with Governor Worf for more than twenty years, and with his son for just about forty. Under such estranged circumstances, most officers would send their condolences by subspace and leave the investigation to the local authorities. So, why are we here?"

The android regarded his first officer for just over three seconds. Then, his golden eyes slid to the side and a distant expression came over his face.

"Worf was my colleague for many years, at a time when I was still struggling to find my own place in this universe," the commodore said. "If he has been murdered, I feel it is my duty to find out why, and to bring the criminal party to face justice. To compound the matter, Alexander may have lost his father. It is a loss with which I personally can sympathize. If helping him to find answers can soothe even a fraction of that pain, I believe I should do all in my power to help." He turned his golden gaze to his first officer. "Is that a satisfactory response, Akira?"

Kinoshita nodded, his broad features stretching into a smile. "Good enough for me, sir."

The turbolift stopped and the two officers strode through the doors and across the wide corridor to the transporter room. Chief Lorenzo looked up from his station with a nod. "The ambassador is in position, sirs," he informed them. "Awaiting your order to transport."

"Energize," Data said.

The air above the transporter pad shimmered gold and blue. Two point one five seconds later, Ambassador Rozhenko, dressed in Federation civilian clothes of blue, black, and maroon, coalesced and stepped off the platform. He was carrying only a single silver suitcase, and he looked pale and tired, as if he hadn't slept in days.

"Ambassador Rozhenko, welcome aboard the _Enterprise_," Data said warmly, holding out his hand to the Klingon. As he did, he couldn't help comparing the last memory file he had of Alexander as a small child to the middle-aged man he was now.

The ambassador was about six centimeters shorter than average for a Klingon male, his skin and hairtone just a shade lighter, and he was perhaps seven kilos overweight—most likely because his long hours at a desk left little time for exercise. Unlike most Klingon males, who sported wild hair and a warrior's goatee, Alexander's face was clean-shaven and his hair was cut close to his head. Deep lines at the corners of his eyes made him look a good decade older than his 44 years, no doubt a testament to the stresses of his chosen career.

Still, despite his obvious exhaustion, the ambassador's dark eyes widened as he clasped the android's cool hand, staring at the commodore's face in open amazement.

"Commander Data!" he exclaimed. "No, no, forgive me, it's Commodore now, is it not?"

"That is correct, Ambassador."

"Commodore Data," he repeated, shaking his head in wonder. "And this is your ship! You know, this is incredible. You look exactly as I remember you, back when I was a boy on the _Enterprise-D_. Looking at you now, I feel almost as if I've been transported back there." He chuffed a disbelieving laugh, and forced his gaze to turn to the android's first officer.

"Alexander Rozhenko," he introduced himself.

"Commander Akira Kinoshita. First Officer of the _Enterprise-G_," the human replied with a smile, accepting the ambassador's outstretched hand. "It's an honor to meet you, Ambassador."

"The honor's all mine, I'm sure," he said, gazing around the spacious transporter room. "I must say, if the rest of your ship is as impressive as this transporter room, this _Enterprise_ must truly be a giant."

"She's three times the size of the _Enterprise_ you knew, Ambassador," Kinoshita said proudly. "And the first since the _Enterprise-D_ to be a family ship. Perhaps, once you've settled in, you would enjoy a tour?"

Alexander paused, his momentary enthusiasm fading as a heavy weight seemed to fall on his shoulders. "I thank you for the offer, Commander," he said, his voice taking on a slight rasp. "And if I had come under different circumstances I certainly would not hesitate to accept the opportunity to see more of your fine ship. But I am not here to settle in or to take tours. I am here to find my father. Or, at least, to learn of his fate. Therefore, if it is acceptable to you, I would prefer to begin work immediately and save the pleasantries for after this mystery has been solved."

Data inclined his head. "As you wish it, Ambassador. Commander Asil," he called out.

"Asil here, sir," the Vulcan's voice replied over the ship's com system.

"Contact all senior staff and have them report to the observation lounge for a briefing in fifteen minutes."

"Aye, Commodore," Asil acknowledged, and cut the communication. Data turned back to Ambassador Rozhenko.

"If you would care to leave your bag, Ambassador, I will have it delivered to your assigned guest quarters."

Alexander placed his small suitcase by the door and gave the android a slight smile. "I am grateful for your understanding, Commodore," he said. "Since I received the news that my father was—" He closed his eyes, unable to finish the thought. "Well, my mind has not stopped racing. I know I will be unable to rest until I have learned the truth behind my father's disappearance."

Data nodded. "Such a reaction is not abnormal," he said. "Worf was my friend for many years. Your help in this investigation is valued. And welcome."

_Like it? Hate it? Please let me know what you think!_ :)


	3. Chapter 3

Hi Everyone! Sorry for the delay, but I got a pretty bad case of food poisoning over the weekend and I'm still not feeling all that well. So, the update's a day late, but it is up! In this chapter, I referenced the movie _Star Trek: Generations_, the ST:TNG episodes "Reunion," "Firstborn," and "Tin Man," the ST:DS9 episode "Sons and Daughters," the novel _Star Trek: A Time for War, A Time for Peace_, and I made use of a bunch of _Star Trek_ quadrant maps and star charts.

Thank you for your interest in my story, and I hope you like this next bit! :)

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Chapter Three

The _Enterprise_ senior staff were gathered in the observation lounge, a narrow, slightly curved room adjacent to the main bridge. Lt. Commander Asil was the only one sitting at the large, round conference table, where she was busy adding a few last-minute notes to her data pad. The rest of the officers were standing together by the large windows, remarking on how different even familiar stars looked from the perspective of the Klingon Empire.

Dr. Zipok, the ship's chief medical officer, was the first to turn away.

"So," he said, sliding into a seat beside the preoccupied Vulcan. "What do you know about this Ambassador Rozhenko?"

Lt. Commander Asil looked up at the tall Bolian, but if she felt any irritation about the interruption, it didn't show on her face.

"Never having met the ambassador, I can only tell you what I have read in his file," she stated.

"OK. Tell away," he said, leaning his elbow casually against the table. Lt. Devna had joined them by this time, her vivid green skin looking almost olive brown in the room's dim light. Asil waited for Chief Engineer Dumaka "Rudy" Rudo and Ship's Councilor Lt. Jemma Elbrun, to take their places before she began to speak.

"Ambassador Alexander Rozhenko, age forty-four, is the only son of Governor Worf, of the House of Martok, and Federation Ambassador K'Ehleyr," she said. "His mother, who was of human and Klingon descent, raised him at the Federation Embassy on the Klingon homeworld until her murder aboard the _Enterprise-D _at the hands of an agent of the Duras family when Rozhenko was three years old. Following his mother's death, most of the ambassador's childhood was divided between living with Governor Worf's adopted human parents on Earth or on the _Enterprise-D_ with his father. His first personal contact with Klingon culture and tradition came as a trial by fire when, as a teenager, he volunteered for military service with the Klingon Defense Force during the time of the Dominion Invasion. He served as a _bekk_, or enlisted crewman, briefly aboard the _Vor'nak _before being transferred to the _Rotarran, _where he gained a reputation as fumbling and inexperienced, yet lucky in battle. He joined the House of Martok on stardate—"

"Asil, please," Dr. Zipok groaned. "I didn't ask you to regurgitate the man's entire personnel file! I just wanted a few illustrative details, you know? So I could get a picture of the man before he comes in the room."

"If that was your desire, your request for information should have been more specific," the Vulcan said coolly.

"All right, all right, it's my fault," the Bolian said, holding up his hands. "But seriously, now, is there anything recent or vital that we should know about this man? Something that would shed some light on why our famously impassive and objective android Commodore would take such an interest in him?"

"Well, there was that Beta Thoridor thing about a year ago, out by the Klingon-Federation border," Rudo offered in his deep, energetic voice. Devna nodded.

"That's right," the young Orion said. "It was in all the news broadcasts. Messy, nasty situation. Decades of hate, constantly rekindled by revenge killings and honor-based suicide bombings, all in the name of that age old motive: natural resources. They said the tactics Rozhenko used to outsmart the Morskan terrorists were worthy of Ambassador Sarek. In fact, that's what most Federation journalists called him at the time: the next Ambassador Sarek. The Imperial sources, though, they called him the 'Klingon Contradiction'."

"Yeah, I remember that," said Rudo. "'A Klingon who fights for peace,' they said, 'his words his sharpest weapons.' To us, that seems a high compliment, but I'm sure the Klingons meant it scornfully."

Jemma Elbrun shook her head, her long, sandy-blonde hair an interesting contrast with her deep, black, Betazoid eyes. "I suppose even today people just don't expect that kind of pacifist mentality from a Klingon," the councilor said. "In fact, I'll admit that before I saw his image file, I didn't realize the ambassador _was_ a Klingon. But I guess with a name like Alexander Rozhenko, he gets that a lot."

"You know, that's an interesting point," Rudo said. "This guy seems to be a mess of contradictions. A Klingon with a human name raised in the Federation who's chosen to live on the Klingon homeworld and dedicate his life to peace. And perhaps the biggest surprise is he's been damn successful at it."

"It could be that his struggle to reconcile his Federation identity and his outsider's perspective of his own Klingon heritage has inspired him to develop routes to peace that others would not consider, or even see," Asil suggested. "His situation reminds me of Ambassador Spock in some ways. He is a hybrid of cultures and values, an outsider in both worlds. It is only logical he would wish those worlds to be at peace. Only then could the inevitable conflict within himself be calmed."

Elbrun smirked. "Perhaps you should be the councilor," she teased. Then, she straightened and looked toward the door. "They're coming," she announced.

The officers quickly squared their shoulders and straightened out the wrinkles in their uniforms. When Data and Kinoshita entered with the ambassador, they were the picture of professional attentiveness.

"And this is the observation lounge, Ambassador," Data was saying as he strode across the room and indicated they should take a seat. "Allow me to introduce the rest of my officers. To your right is Security Chief Devna."

The Orion woman flashed her straight, white teeth. "An honor to meet you, Ambassador."

"Dr. Zipok, our chief medical officer."

The blue-skinned Bolian inclined his ridged head.

"Commander Asil, our science and operations officer."

"Ambassador," she said politely.

"Our ship's councilor, Jemma Elbrun."

The Betazoid gave him a warm smile. "A pleasure," she said.

"And this is Chief Engineer Rudo."

Rudy Rudo was a tall, broad man of human stock that, over several centuries, had adapted to life on a colony world with exceptionally high gravity. His bulging muscles and gleaming dark skin made the Klingon sitting across from him seem shorter and paler than he actually was. But, far from feeling any sense of intimidation or rivalry, the two men just grinned and shook hands with a firm, friendly grip.

"Good to have you here, Ambassador," the engineer said.

"It is an honor to be welcomed like this," the ambassador replied. "And I thank you all for your help in this matter. Tell me, have you discovered anything yet about my father's disappearance?"

All eyes turned to Asil. The prim young Vulcan straightened in her chair.

"The only reliable information we have right now is from the reports I requested from the Klingon homeworld," she said. "According to these sources, Governor Worf's private shuttle was found drifting several light-years off-course by a Klingon trading ship. It was scarred almost beyond recognition, and no life forms or any sign of organic remains were found aboard."

"No remains…" The ambassador frowned. "Could that mean my father might still be alive?"

"I cannot answer that, Ambassador," Asil said. "If the Klingon trader had not chosen to report his find to the government, so as to claim the salvage fees, and instead sold the shuttle for parts, we would not even know this much."

"Commander Asil," Data said. "Just where was the governor's shuttle found?"

Asil set her data pad on the table and tapped the keypad. An instant later, a detailed holographic map of the Beta Quadrant was floating over center of the table.

"The governor's shuttle was found here," she zoomed in on an empty-looking sector not far from Romulan space. "Adrift in the Amargosa asteroid field."

Data's left eyebrow twitched.

"Sir, what is it?" asked Elbrun. Although the Betazoid couldn't always sense the commodore's thoughts, in her three years as ship's councilor she had learned that the android's body language could often provide a great deal of insight into his state of mind.

"Curious," he said softly. Louder, he asked, "Where was the governor headed before he disappeared?"

"To judge a bat'leth competition on Starbase 123," Asil answered promptly. "He did not arrive."

The commodore pursed his lips, his golden eyes focused intently on the map. Alexander regarded him.

"Commodore," he said. "Is there something about this sector that we should know?"

"It may be too early to speculate," Data said, "but I do have a suspicion. You are all familiar with the details of how the _Enterprise-D_ was destroyed?"

"Of course," Kinoshita said. "That El-Aurian scientist, Tolian Soran, was trying to alter the course of the Nexus energy ribbon by destroying stars. Soran hired a couple of Klingon renegades, the Duras sisters, to serve as transport and muscle while he tried to carry out his plan. The _Enterprise-D_ was destroyed during a skirmish with that vessel. The ship's warp core blew and the saucer section crash-landed on planet Veridian III."

"That is essentially correct," Data acknowledged.

"Thank you, sir," Kinoshita said. "But what's the connection with that sector?"

"The Nexus ribbon passes through this galaxy every 39.1 years," Data told him. "It has been thirty-nine years since the _Enterprise-D_ encountered it. And the Amargosa asteroid field—known as the Amargosa star system before Dr. Soran destroyed it—lies directly along the ribbon's path."

"Coincidence?" Asil asked.

"Unknown," Data said. "But it could explain the extensive damage to the governor's shuttle. If Worf found himself drawn into the ribbon's gravimetric field—"

"But how could that have happened?" Alexander demanded. "This Amargosa asteroid field is nowhere near Starbase 123! What would my father have been doing there?"

"I'm afraid we do not have sufficient information at this time to—"

"No, no, listen," Alexander interrupted. "It was suspected at the Federation Embassy that my father may have been abducted. Maybe he wasn't even on that shuttle!"

"That is quite possible," Data said. "Hopefully, we will find some answers once we arrive at H'atoria. Commander Asil," he asked, "what is our ETA?"

"Eighteen minutes, sir," the Vulcan said.

"In eighteen minutes, then," Data said. "You may all return to your stations. Ambassador, you are welcome to join me on the bridge."

"Thank you, Commodore, I will," Alexander said, rising from the table along with Data's officers. "And will I be allowed to take an active role in this investigation?"

Data tilted his head. "You are here as a civilian advisor," he said. "You may of course aid the investigation in that capacity. But, if you are asking to be granted the full privileges of a Starfleet officer—"

"No, no, forget that I asked," Alexander grunted. "It is just all this _waiting_! For a Klingon, there is nothing more frustrating."

"That is true of most species, I have observed," Data said. "Putting your mind to a task may help to alleviate some your anxiety. Come, you can help Commander Asil on Science Two."

Alexander grunted and started to follow the Commodore from the room. But, just before they reached the doors to the bridge, he stopped.

"Commodore Data," he said.

The android turned. "Ambassador?"

"Do you really think it is possible?" he asked. "Do you think my father could be trapped inside that Nexus energy ribbon? Alive?"

Data paused for a long moment. "If Worf is alive within the extradimensional realm of the Nexus, it is only a half-life," he said somberly. "The Nexus is a dangerous, nebulous realm where thought shapes reality. Even if we can track the ribbon, there are no guarantees we would be able to find your father, let alone rescue him."

Alexander lowered his gaze with a slow nod. "I understand. So…Science Two?"

"This way, Ambassador," Data said, and led the way through the sliding doors to the main bridge.

_To Be Continued…_

_Comments? Critiques? Reviews are always welcome! :)  
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	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four

The image on the screen snapped from the orbiting view of a small, brown planet to the creased face of an aging Klingon secretary. She glared out at the _Enterprise _bridge crew through sharp, dark eyes, her softly crimped gray hair falling over the padded shoulders of her stiff, silvery dress.

"You're the ship that's come about Governor Worf?" she said gruffly.

Data rose from his command chair. "Yes. I am Commodore Data of the Federation starship _Enterprise_," the android stated. "We were hoping you—"

"Yes, yes, save your Federation pleasantries for someone who cares," the woman said. Data noticed that her eyes were rimmed with red, and she seemed tired and irritable. "The governor's ship is yours to do with as you please. What's left of it, that is. You'll find a copy of our analysis in its computer bank. As for what may have happened to the governor, I won't speculate. I do know he left me with a backlog of work going back some three years, work that it is now my responsibility to sort out! I don't appreciate that, Commodore Data. I don't appreciate it at all."

Data tilted his head. "I have always understood Worf to be most efficient, particularly when it comes to carrying out the particulars of his duty."

"Maybe he was…once," the woman acknowledged. "But that was before."

"Before…?" Data prompted.

She glared for a long moment, then lowered her gaze with a slight grunt. "Well, he's most likely dead now so there's no harm telling you. Governor Worf was the most cantankerous, impossible to please old man I've ever had the misfortune to work under. At first we put it down to wounded pride—he did lose his seat on the High Council when the new government was voted in after all, and we here on H'atoria are the first to admit our colony is hardly the most prestigious outpost in the Empire. But it's more than that. There was something dark in that man. Something angry and unfulfilled. I gather he had a brother once, and a son. Even a wife. But he would never talk of them. Not once, in the four years I've known him. It's not natural for a Klingon not to speak of his House and family, but Worf kept his silence, as though he was carrying a great shame. The only time I saw him smile was when he was off to judge those foolish bat'leth contests of his."

At the back of the bridge, by Science Station Two, Alexander turned his head away from the viewscreen, his heart a painful weight in his chest. Could it be that, even after all these years, all his accomplishments, his father was still ashamed of him? Had it truly been that important to the old man to see his only son battle his way up the ranks as a Klingon warrior…rather than the peace-endorsing Starfleet bureaucrat he had become?

"Ambassador, are you all right?" the Vulcan, Asil, inquired from the seat beside him. Alexander stood up, unwilling to acknowledge in public how deeply the secretary's words had cut him. Instead, he strode down the side ramp toward the viewscreen.

"Excuse me," he said, inadvertently interrupting the commodore just as he was opening his mouth to address the secretary. Commander Kinoshita shot him a warning stare, but Alexander strode forward until he was standing beside the commodore at the center of the bridge. "Excuse me," he said again, "But when my—the governor… When the governor left your colony, did he say anything about the course he planned to take? If he intended to make any unusual stops?"

"Well, well. And what is this?" The woman raised a graying eyebrow at Alexander, looking his Federation clothes over with obvious contempt. "From his clothing and his paunch it is clear this man is no warrior, so he must be a diplomat. The Klingon Contradiction himself, if I'm not mistaken, for who else would wear a Federation garment and still call himself a patriot of the Empire?"

Data and Kinoshita shared a look, surprised by her tone. Alexander bared his teeth with a slight growl. "Your rudeness does nothing to answer my question," he said.

"So, the Federation's peace-lover can be riled." She smiled, clearly displaying her pointed brown teeth. "Could his heart perhaps be Klingon after all?"

Alexander glared, seeming to inflate slightly in his anger. The secretary's grin broadened, and her expression slowly shifted to something far warmer. The ambassador frowned, confused by this change, until she said, "You should know, Ambassador, that my son was stationed at Beta Thoridor when the terrorists swarmed the city. I thought at that time I would be left alone, the last of my House, with only cold stone and the memory of a son's honorable sacrifice to comfort me in my old age. Yet, because of your negotiations, my son still lives, and I now have a grandson to carry on our family name. I will answer your questions."

Alexander nodded, an unexpected flush of gratification soothing the pain in his heart. Still, it disturbed him that she didn't seem aware of his relationship with the governor she had worked with for four years. If his father hadn't spoken of him to her, even at the height of the Beta Thoridor negotiations when her own son's life was at stake... Alexander shook his head, unwilling to ponder any possible meanings for his father's silence in the presence of the _Enterprise_ bridge crew-particularly the Betazoid, Jemma Elbrun, who was staring at him with a curiously unreadable expression.

The secretary looked up from her computer terminal and shook her head.

"No, the governor's flight plan shows a straightforward course to Starbase 123," she said, "no deviations. I can send you the records if you like."

"Please do," Data said. "And please include all other records pertaining to Worf's activities since he took the governorship of H'atoria."

"But that goes back four years," she said. "You'll never get through them all."

Data gave a little smile. "I am a fast reader," he said. "Thank you for your help. It is appreciated."

The overworked secretary grunted, and ended the conversation. The viewscreen snapped back to the planet's rocky surface.

"Transmission cut at the source," Lt. Devna dutifully reported.

"Commodore," Alexander said as the bridge officers turned to him. "I apologize for butting in like that. It was not my intention to—"

"No," Data said. "The conversation was most illuminating. Tell me, Ambassador, have you spoken with your father since he took this post?"

Alexander averted his gaze. "It shames me to say I have not," he said. "These past few years, we have exchanged no more than a few quick communiques. You will remember, Commodore, that my father and I rarely saw eye to eye. About anything. I had thought our relationship had improved after my appointment as ambassador was confirmed, but now... Perhaps it was only my wishful thinking." He straightened his posture, all too aware of Lt. Elbrun's piercing eyes on his back. "Commodore," he said, "I believe I would like to see my quarters now. If that is all right."

"Certainly," Data said. "Commander Kinoshita will show you the way."

Alexander nodded and followed the First Officer to the turbolift, no longer able to hide the exhaustion that trailed his steps. That conversation with his father's secretary had indeed been 'illuminating', as Data had said. But Alexander knew he'd need some time before he could come to terms with all the feelings it had brought to light.

_To Be Continued..._


	5. Chapter 5

Thanks! I'm glad you liked it! Actually, it never occurred to me to have Alexander and Asil get romantic, but I don't think Alexander would do that to Tavana. Sorry! Also, this crew isn't from any series or novel. Aside from Alexander, Worf, and Commodore Data (I took Data's rank as commodore and position as commander of a future version of the _Enterprise_ from the Peter David novel _Imzadi_), Kinoshita, Asil, Rudo, Devna, Zipok, and Elbrun are all my creations, and so is Tavana.

Hope you like this next bit!

Chapter Five

A chirp from the door pulled Alexander out of a strange dream, a dream haunted by his father's disappointed eyes. Heaving his 'paunchy' body to its feet—he really did have to start an exercise regime, he thought to himself for what had to be the thousandth time—the ambassador quickly changed from his pajamas into his usual clothes, then shuffled across the soft carpet and used the wall panel to unlock the door.

"Enter," he said, and the sliding doors opened to reveal Commodore Data.

"I am sorry if I woke you, Ambassador," the android said politely, taking in the ambassador's rumpled appearance as he strode into his quarters. "But I thought you would like to know the results of our analysis of your father's ship."

The ambassador stopped at the replicator for a hot ractagino—Data declined his offer of a drink—then sank with his coffee into a plush, gray chair and indicated the android should take the chair across from him. "It must be something if you felt you had to tell me in person, Commodore," he said warily. "Have you been able to determine my father's status?"

Data seemed to hesitate. "Not exactly," he said as he sat down. "The Klingons' analysis reported no organic remains aboard the ship. However, we discovered this report was not entirely correct. Commander Rudo identified a great deal of charred organic residue inside the ship. Our sensors have determined this residue, which is mostly blood, came from three individuals: a Klingon, a human, and a Chameloid. Significantly, the greatest proportion of blood came, not from the Klingon, but the Chameloid."

"A Chameloid?" Alexander frowned over his steaming mug. "Are you saying you think my father was attacked by a shapeshifter?"

"The evidence seems to point that way," Data said. "Most of the residue was charred beyond use, which is no doubt why the Klingons disregarded it. But Dr. Zipok was able to extract some trace DNA from each of the samples and run it through the Federation's database. The Klingon has been confirmed to be your father, Governor Worf. The human, Dr. Zipok identified as Alyc Pryn, a smuggler known to have had many illegal dealings with the Ferengi."

"And the Chameloid?"

"Unknown," Data said. "At least, in the Federation. We have contacted the Klingons, Cardassians, Ferengi, Romulans, and several other non-Federation governments to see if they might be able to find an identity match in their records. However, from what we have been able to learn of Alyc Pryn, it is beginning to seem that this attack on your father was not personal or planned."

"What do you mean?" Alexander asked, setting down his coffee and leaning forward. "That this smuggler targeted my father's ship at random? For what purpose?"

"Your father's shuttle was a high-end civilian craft. It could easily be refitted to serve a mercenary or paramilitary group—a factor that would increase its value to unscrupulous traders like the Ferengi. I am starting to believe this attack was more like a car-jacking gone wrong, to use an old Earth expression, rather than anything politically motivated. In fact," he said, "our reconstruction of the scene shows your father may have actually defeated his attackers and been holding them incapacitated in the back of the craft at the time his ship was damaged. This would explain why so much Chameloid blood had a chance to pool in one place, and perhaps why your father's ship was found adrift in the Amargosa asteroid field, so far from Starbase 123."

Alexander's frown deepened. "I don't follow you," he said.

"The new Federation penal colony, Guiane IV, is only a few light years from that system," Data explained. "Your father may have intended to deposit the criminals there before continuing on to Starbase 123. We have sent an inquiry to Guiane IV to determine if Worf contacted them and are awaiting their response."

Alexander grunted and took a long swig of his cooling coffee. "So, let me get this straight," he said. "You think my father's ship was 'car-jacked', as you put it, by two petty criminals out to steal his ship. My father fought them off and changed course to deliver them to a penal colony. Very well. I can believe that. But it doesn't explain how he disappeared, or how his ship ended up so badly damaged."

"Chief Engineer Rudo, Commander Asil, and I have run a series of structural analysis and stress tests on the hull of your father's ship to determine the most likely cause of damage," Data told him. "The results…are not encouraging."

"What do you mean?" the Klingon asked.

Data's golden eyes were tight with sympathy as he said, "It would appear the initial hypothesis I put forward in the Observation Lounge may have been correct. The stresses and scorch patterns are consistent with the buffeting forces exerted by the Nexus energy ribbon."

Alexander leaned back slowly and folded his hands across his stomach. "So," he said, "my father has either been swallowed by the Nexus, or else incinerated by its energy."

"Our investigation has found no evidence of incineration," Data said. "It is possible your father is still alive, within the ribbon. The question is how to retrieve him without putting more lives at risk."

"I'll go," Alexander said. "Just lend me a shuttle and I'll—"

"No. I will not allow that." The commodore's voice was firm. "The shearing forces of the ribbon are too great for a shuttle to withstand. If entry into the Nexus is to be achieved by a humanoid, it must be done from the surface of a planet-"

"And would you happen to know of any such convenient planet?" the Klingon asked darkly.

"-However," Data continued, "it should be possible to modify a probe to seek and contact your father within the ribbon. We will place this probe in the vicinity of Veridian III, at the point where it has been calculated the Nexus will intersect the Veridian solar system. Hopefully, if the probe is successful, the pattern boosters it contains will allow our transporters to lock onto your father through the interference caused by the ribbon and pull him to safety."

"And if it isn't successful?" Alexander asked.

"We will try another plan," Data told him. "Don't worry, Alexander," he said kindly. "I don't intend to give up until I'm certain of your father's fate."

"Commodore," the ambassador said, "Please don't think I'm not grateful for all you are doing. But I must ask: why _are_ you doing this? Why are you so willing to put your own business on hold to help my father?"

Data looked down at him for a long moment, then lowered himself back into the chair.

"There are not many of us left from the old _Enterprise_ crew," the android said. "It is a state of affairs I knew would come all of my life, and yet, now it is here… I am finding the reality of losing my earliest friends much harder than I had imagined." He lowered his head, then turned his gaze to the stars flying past the rounded windows.

"It is true your father and I were never particularly close," he said. "Not like I was with Geordi or Ambassador Picard…or even Tasha Yar, who was Worf's predecessor as Security Chief on the _Enterprise-D_. In fact, there were times I got the sense Worf didn't much like me. Yet, despite our many differences, the two of us were also quite similar. We were both orphans, both adopted into a human society we never fully fit into or understood. And, of all the _Enterprise_ senior staff, it was only Dr. Crusher, your father, and I who had children. My daughter, Lal, died when she was only a few weeks old. But even now, she is never far from my mind. Just as I know you were never far from Worf's, even when you were away on Earth. Your relationship affected his decisions, how he perceived himself and others."

"You mean strapped down and burdened with a duty to a child he never wanted or understood," Alexander rumbled, surprised by his own bitterness.

Data regarded him curiously. "Worf may have been difficult to get along with, but despite what his secretary said, I had the impression that he always cared for you a great deal."

Alexander snorted a little at that. "As a reflection on himself, perhaps. A poor reflection," he said, and downed the last of his ractagino. "Is it not true, Commodore," he said, "that when you created Lal, you had no doubt that you wanted her, that you were ready to be the parent she needed? Worf never wanted me. He was not even aware of my existence until I was three years old, and then the first thing he did was send me to live with his parents. If my mother had not died…" He shook his head to rid himself of the memory. "But that was all a very long time ago."

"Ambassador," Data said, "may I ask a personal question?"

Alexander made an affirmative gesture.

"Why are you doing this? Why are you putting your own business on hold to search for a father you have not spoken with in over four years?"

Alexander nodded, acknowledging the way the android had turned his own questions back on him. But he didn't mind. Speaking with Data, with this voice from his past, it was comforting somehow. Safe. And he was sure that, if he asked, the android would lock this conversation away in his memory banks and never speak of it again.

"It's strange," he said. "I've built a good life for myself on the Homeworld. I have found success in a career I enjoy, I have the love of a beautiful, intelligent wife… Most days I would count myself among the happiest men in the galaxy. And yet, at the mention of my father, all of that…it just seems to pale. The pain and loneliness I endured in my youth returns to me in a rush and I feel…I feel what I imagine my father must feel, see myself though what I imagine would be his eyes. To him, because I am not a warrior, I am not true Klingon. I am what my enemies in the media have made me out to be. A farce. The 'Klingon Contradiction.'"

"Alexander," Data started, but the ambassador held up a hand. Now he had started on this track he needed to get it all out. He'd never been able to swallow his feelings like his father, he needed to express them. Deanna Troi had understood that when she'd counseled him and his father back on the _Enterprise-D_ as had her mother, Lwaxana-one of the people who had inspired him to become an ambassador. But stoic Worf had never approved of his son's all-too-human sensitivity. It was yet another reason for embarrassment and shame.

"Worf rejected me, Data," he said. "Once he finally accepted I had no intention of ever becoming the warrior he wanted me to be, he sent me back to Earth and we didn't speak again for the remainder of my childhood. Perhaps, this journey is an attempt to make up for the disappointment and embarrassment I have caused him. My last chance to prove to him that, although I am not a true warrior, I am a true Klingon, and I have managed to achieve honor in my own way."

Data nodded slowly. "I understand," he said, his artificial eyes deep with feeling. "But you are no farce, Alexander. Your achievements, the lives you have saved through your negotiations, they are all very real. Perhaps the irony here is that, while you have built a career out of trying to understand and reconcile the motivations of others, Worf was never very good at looking beyond himself. Because he locked his feelings away, he expected others to do the same. Possibly, he did not realize how important it is for a son to actually hear his father verbalize his pride in him. Or how that importance remains even after his son has grown into an adult."

"He always was a selfish old bastard. And stubborn," Alexander said, but without anger. "And I should admit I have never been the most dutiful son. There were times, many times, I went out of my way to annoy him. Still, it wasn't all bad."

He stood and took his empty mug to the replicator, where it vanished in a swirl of light. Returning to his chair, he said, "I've been thinking lately that growing up with my father has in fact taught me a great deal about what not to do as a parent. For instance, I would never force my child into a career she did not want or was unsuited for, and I would never let her feel unloved or unwanted if she did not choose to live her life according to my wishes."

Something about the way he spoke made his words seem more than merely hypothetical. Curious, Data asked, "Do you have a child?"

Alexander nodded with a small smile, proud to share the news with someone at last. "Due late next spring. My wife informed me before I left the Homeworld," he said. "She was planning to tell me as an anniversary surprise, but my father's disappearance put the kybosh on that plan. Still…" His smile broadened until it lit his eyes, unable to contain his happiness on its own.

"Congratulations, Ambassador," Data said. "And to your wife. I'm sure you'll make a splendid father."

"I can only hope," he said. "My wife and I lead very busy lives. But I'm willing to make the changes, to put in the time. I swore I would, long ago, when I was a child myself."

Data nodded, but before he could speak the ship's communications system chirped and Commander Asil's even voice said, "Commodore, we are approaching the Veridian star system. In addition, sensors have located a small craft in orbit around Veridian III. It is difficult to tell from this distance, but the life form inside may be a Chameloid."

"Thank you, Commander," Data said, standing up and striding to the door, inviting Alexander along with a questioning tilt of his head. Alexander nodded and hurried after him into the corridor. "The ambassador and I are on our way."

_To Be Continued..._

Like it? Hate it? C'mon, make my day. Please leave a review! :)


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter Six

The smuggler's small craft hung in orbit around Veridian III, looking decidedly the worse for wear against the distant backdrop of rocks and forests. Its angular hull was badly charred, and crystallized vapors streamed from one engine nacelle.

"Report," Data ordered as he took his place in his command chair. Alexander walked slowly toward Science Station Two, but remained standing just behind tactical, his dark eyes fixed on the screen.

"The craft's occupant transported to the surface forty-three seconds ago," Asil said from her Operations terminal. "Sensors confirm he is a Chameloid, in need of medical attention."

"What sort of medical attention?" Alexander asked, crossing his arms over his chest. Asil regarded him with a raised eyebrow.

"According to the readings, he has several deep slash wounds to his legs and torso, and his right upper humerus is fractured."

"That would be consistent with our findings in the shuttle," Kinoshita said to Data. "All that blood. But if Governor Worf did fight off his attackers, where is his weapon? Those slashes sound like knife injuries to me, and we didn't find any blade weapons during our security sweep."

"Perhaps the Chameloid took the weapon with him," Alexander grunted. "He is a thief, after all."

"Lt. Devna," said Data, "can we beam the Chameloid to a holding cell for questioning?"

The young Orion tapped at her console. She bit her lip. "I can't seem to get a lock, sir," she said. "There's some kind of interference. It's coming from a nearby structure, built into the rocks."

"Soran's weapon launcher?" Kinoshita asked. "Could it still be active?"

"No," Data said, his fingers running over the controls on the arm of his command chair as he reviewed the information streaming in from the sensors. "Ambassador Picard sabotaged it during his confrontation with the scientist, the result being that the weapon self-destructed when Dr. Soran attempted to launch it at the Veridian star. The damaged trilithium power source at its heart was never fully dismantled, however."

"Why not?"

"Veridian III is uninhabited, and with Soran and the weapon gone, Starfleet did not believe it was necessary to allocate the resources required to remove and dispose of the weapon's remains."

"Great." Kinoshita frowned. "Then it looks like we'll have to go down there, if we want him."

Data nodded. "Agreed. Data to Engineering."

"Rudo here," the engineer's deep voice rumbled through the comm. system.

"How long until the probe is ready for launch?"

"It's ready now, sir," Rudo reported. "Just waiting for your word."

"Very good. Stand by. Commander Asil," he turned to the Vulcan, "how much time do we have before the Nexus energy ribbon intersects this system?"

Asil's slender fingers flew over her console. "Extrapolating its current speed and trajectory from the readings downloaded from Governor Worf's shuttle computer and comparing the results to readouts recovered from the _Enterprise-D_'s encounter with the ribbon, I would estimate we have thirty-eight minutes before the ribbon's arrival, sir."

"Thank you, Asil," he said. "Commander Rudo, please have the prepared probe taken to Shuttle Bay Three and wait for me there. Once we have apprehended the Chameloid, I wish to position and activate the probe manually."

"Understood, sir. Rudo out."

"Data to Dr. Zipok," the commodore spoke to the air.

"Yes, Commodore," said the Bolian's voice.

"We have located one of Governor Worf's attackers, a Chameloid. He has been injured."

"Of course. I'll modify the medi-scanners," Zipok said. "Just let me know if you'll be requiring emergency assistance."

"Acknowledged, Doctor," the android said, and stood. "Asil, Devna, with me. Commander Kinoshita, you have the bridge."

"Commodore, wait!" Alexander called out, cutting him off at the turbolift. "You must let me come."

"Ambassador," the android said, "I assure you that you will have ample opportunity to question the Chameloid once he is in custody here on the _Enterprise_."

"Yes…I understand," the Klingon said, struggling to hide his sudden rush of desperation. "But— But listen. The Chameloid is a shapeshifter, right? And he's wounded. He may be armed. Chances are very good he won't go willingly with a group of Starfleet officers sent to apprehend him. He may put up a fight, your people may be forced to fire at him. Chameloids don't go down easily. If he is killed we may never learn the truth about what happened to my father. But if I am with you, I may be able to prevent that situation from occurring. I could talk with him, convince him it's in his interest to come with us peacefully, without the need for phasers."

"A valid point," Data acknowledged. "But, the protocol in this case is quite clear. While you are here, your safety is my responsibility. I will not place you in danger, Ambassador."

"Are you implying I cannot defend myself?" the Klingon snarled dangerously.

"On the contrary. Like you, I am trying to avoid potential conflict. You may accompany us to the shuttle bay, but I'm afraid I cannot allow you to travel down to the planet. Please appreciate my position and accept this limitation without further argument."

Alexander gritted his teeth, but finally nodded. "Very well, Commodore," he growled. "I shall…wait."

_Next time on _Fathers and Sons: _Some action! Stay tuned! :)_


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter Seven

The mission to apprehend the Chameloid went surprisingly smoothly, all things considered. And Alexander considered everything as he paced back and forth among the shuttles and listened to the tinny communications between the commodore and his officers. In less than fifteen minutes, the severely injured Chameloid was in Starfleet custody, and so was his ship. To save time, Data ordered Asil, Devna and Rudo to transport the Chameloid back to the _Enterprise_ aboard the smuggler's craft while he continued on with the shuttle to position the probe.

"He only has about ten minutes before the Nexus gets here," Alexander snarled at one of the non-commissioned officers in charge of maintaining the shuttles. "What if he runs out of time?"

"He's Data," the young woman said with a shrug. "If anyone can pull it off, he can. Probably has it calculated down to the millisecond."

Alexander growled, then gave a start as the cavernous space suddenly lit up with flashing red klaxons.

"Sir, if you could step back behind the safety line," the non-com said firmly, moving to a control station. "The smugglers' craft is approaching."

Alexander shot her a glare, but complied. As soon as he'd crossed the yellow line, a shimmering forcefield shot up behind him. The non-com depressurized the shuttle bay and opened the hangar door, maintaining constant verbal contact with Asil and Rudo as she helped guide the ship into the space she'd prepared.

It was only a matter of seconds, but Alexander found himself bobbing impatiently on his heels as he waited for the shuttle bay to repressurize. The instant the safety field snapped off, he was beside the smoking craft, coughing into his sleeve as he watched the metal door creak open.

Asil exited first, followed by Rudo and then—

"You!" Alexander roared, grabbing the hairy Chameloid by the scruff of his neck and slamming him against the side of the craft. "Tell me the truth," he snarled, getting right in the taller being's leathery face. "Did you kill my father? Did you murder Governor Worf?"

"Ambassador!" Devna snapped. "Let him go!"

"I will not!" Alexander growled back. "Not until I have my answer."

The Chameloid coughed blood and trembled from deep within. He was obviously severely injured, perhaps even dying. But at that moment, Alexander didn't care. He just tightened his grip on his thick, furry throat and snarled. The Chameloid smiled.

"You think I fear you, little Klingon?" he rasped in a deep, heavy voice.

"Did you murder my father?" Alexander repeated, glaring straight into his large, amber eyes.

"Your father? He is the lucky one. Like my partner. They have achieved paradise! While I…I was left…left behind… So terrible, to have a taste of joy…then to be torn, ripped away…!"

The Chameloid's eyes filled with tears. Alexander grunted and loosened his grip. As soon as he did, the Chameloid was in motion. He shoved Alexander's arm away, then plowed into Lt. Devna. The young Orion went down with a cry of pain—the Chameloid's impact had fractured her collar bone—but her hand went instantly to the phaser strapped to her hip. "Stop or I'll fire!" she yelled.

But the Chameloid was beyond hearing. He'd made it to the massive cargo transporter pad by this time, operating the controls with surprisingly nimble fingers.

"No," Alexander growled, "you're not getting away."

"Ambassador, stop!" Asil called. "You are placing yourself in unneeded danger and interfering in our attempts to incapacitate this criminal."

Alexander didn't care about the danger, or their attempts to bring the Chameloid down. To him, this was now a matter of family honor, of personal honor.

Klingon culture had very strict traditions concerning death and the fate of the soul after death. These traditions were laid down in a collection of scrolls known as the paq'batlh, or Book of Honor. They detailed the Way of the Warrior, the honor-based belief system developed by Kahless, the first Klingon Emperor.

Alexander had declined to follow the Warrior's Path long ago, when he was still a child. It had been a difficult, highly personal choice, but his decision had hit his father hard. Alexander had always believed that had been the main reason why Worf had abandoned him on Earth so soon after he'd made his choice.

Worf had always taken his Klingon faith very seriously. Throughout his life, Worf had painstakingly observed all the rights and rituals, even taking time out of his Starfleet career at one point to meditate at the Temple of Boreth, the most sacred site in the Klingon Empire.

According to Klingon teachings, if a warrior did not achieve an honorable death, his soul would not be welcome in Sto'Vo'Kor, the warriors' paradise. If what the Chameloid had said was true, if his father had not died in combat but had instead been vaporized or engulfed by an impersonal, unsentient energy nexus, his death had not been honorable and it was up to his son, to Alexander, to avenge his spirit by killing his father's enemies. Only then, could his father's soul be free to join the honored dead in Sto'Vo'Kor.

And, with the human smuggler apparently gone the same way as Worf, this Chameloid was the last of his father's immediate enemies. It was Alexander's duty as a Klingon to kill him. He'd been preparing himself for this moment ever since he'd first heard the news of Worf's suspected death. It had, in fact, been the primary purpose of his trip, a purpose he had kept carefully secret from Starfleet and Federation Headquarters. He had to kill this being, even if it meant an end to his career in the Federation.

The Chameloid had left the controls and was running toward the transporter pad. Alexander put on a burst of speed and came at him with a flying tackle, knocking them both off their feet. Together, they skidded and rolled across the pad ultimately coming to a stop just inches from the edge. Alexander reached into his tunic and pulled out a dagger he'd brought with him from the homeworld, a dagger that had once belonged to his father. With a shaking hand, he raised it over the Chameloid's chest and—

-suddenly realized he wasn't in the shuttle bay. He was in a shuttlecraft, still straddling the coughing Chameloid with his knife raised.

"Ambassador Rozhenko!"

Data's voice sounded as surprised, and as angry, as Alexander had ever heard it. The android was a blur as he pulled the two combatants apart and swiftly incapacitated the Chameloid with what appeared to be a Vulcan neck pinch. The furry being slumped into an unconscious heap on the carpet. Alexander made to slip his dagger back inside his tunic, only to realize it was now in Data's hand, and he was glaring at him with the most intimidating yellow eyes the Klingon had ever seen.

"We will discuss this later, Ambassador," he said coldly, slipping the confiscated dagger into his own belt. "Right now, we have only two point three five minutes before the Nexus passes through this location. _Enterprise__,_" he called out. "The probe has been launched and is now in position. The ambassador, our prisoner, and I are now returning to the ship, maximum impulse."

"Acknowledged, sir," Asil's voice responded. If Alexander hadn't known better he'd have thought she sounded rather put out. He winced a little, but he couldn't bring himself to regret his actions in the shuttle bay. In fact, if he ever had another chance, he knew he'd have to try to kill the Chameloid again. Klingon honor demanded it. His father's honor demanded it.

"You do realize that if our attempt to retrieve your father from the Nexus is successful, your attempt to kill that Chameloid will have been pointless," Data said, his gaze aimed straight ahead as he piloted the shuttle. "Klingon honor will not be served by murdering an innocent being."

"He's not innocent," Alexander grumbled, angrily trying to suppress his guilt. "And he was an enemy of my father's. That is enough."

"Is it, Alexander?" Data asked, and looked at him. Despite himself, Alexander found he was shrinking under the android's steady gaze. He sighed.

"They were right," he said at last, forcing the words out with some difficulty. "All of them. Deep down, I'm no Klingon. I do not have the heart of a warrior." He chuckled darkly. "I could not even kill one wounded Chameloid."

"You certainly seemed on the verge of carrying out that objective," Data said.

"No." Alexander shook his head. "I hesitated. Even before the transporter. I—I looked into that Chameloid's eyes, felt his breath on my arm. I could not strike the blow."

Data's expression seemed to soften. "I'm glad," he said, and turned back to his controls. "_Enterprise_," he called out, "prepare for docking."

"Shuttle Bay Three, ready to receive you, Commodore," the non-com's voice replied.

Data reached across the controls, only to release a surprised cry when his arm was knocked aside by a vibrant purple tentacle. Five similar tentacles coiled around his legs, his torso, his neck, pinning him to his chair.

"No," a wet, gurgling voice said. "We must go back. Back, back to the Nexus. To paradise!"

Alexander started to turn, but three tentacles held him motionless. The Chameloid, he realized. He must have awoken and changed shape. And now, two more purple tentacles were working the controls, changing their course…

"_Enterprise__!_" Data shouted, using all his strength to combat the powerful, sinewy tentacles. He'd gotten them to release his legs and neck, and was struggling to knock them away from the controls, but more kept coming. Alexander only wished there was something he could do to help. "Three to beam up. Immediately!"

The non-com's voice came again, sounding far less self-assured. "I'm trying, Commodore. There's some kind of interference. I—I can't get a lock…"

"Commodore," Alexander said, indicating with his eyes toward the viewscreen in front of them. The Nexus had arrived, and it was crackling straight toward the shuttle. Data only had time enough to utter a mild expletive before the small ship was swallowed up. For a brief moment, Alexander's world was engulfed in a tingling, electric pinkness. It was cool and fresh and tinged with a strange, sweet smell.

Then, there was nothing.

_To Be Continued…_


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter Eight

"He's gone."

Dr. Zipok set his medical tricorder down and turned to face the rest of the ship's senior staff. They stood in a somber cluster a short, respectful distance from the medi-cot where Commodore Data's body lay motionless, his golden eyes wide and unblinking.

"But, I don't understand," Devna said from her own medi-cot, where a senior nurse was struggling to keep her still long enough to heal her fractured clavicle. "Commander Rudo said all his systems are operational. If there's no mechanical fault, what's keeping him from waking up?"

Zipok clasped his hands behind his back. "Having no expertise in cybernetics, I can only speak for organic beings," he said. "I can keep an organic body alive indefinitely after the individual has been pronounced clinically dead. Yet, although the heart may be beating, the individual's consciousness can never be restored."

"Yes—if the brain is damaged in some way, or the brain stem severed," Devna protested. "But Commodore Data's brain isn't damaged!"

"We don't know what happened when the Commodore's positronic brain was exposed to the energy of the Nexus," Commander Rudo rumbled darkly. "It could be that, for him, passing through the Nexus was like running a magnet over an old-style data tape. His mind may simply have been…erased."

Councilor Elbrun swallowed hard and turned away before the tears she'd been holding back could escape. Devna bared her teeth, startlingly white against her green skin.

"This is all that Klingon's fault," the young Orion growled. "That ambassador. If I had him here—"

"But you do not," Asil pointed out. "And it is counterproductive to fan your anger with hypothetical musings. If we are to determine our next logical course of action, we must concentrate on the facts as we know them."

"Fine, let's do that," said Kinoshita, striding forward to take command of the conversation. "We know the ambassador's bungled attempt to murder that Chameloid smuggler got himself and the smuggler drawn into the Nexus. We know exposure to the ribbon's energy left our shuttlecraft a burnt-out husk and our Commodore a mindless mannequin. And we know the Chameloid knocked the probe the Commodore set to locate Governor Worf out of position when he took over the shuttle, so no data was collected and no contact was made. All of which leaves our mission a humiliating shambles and our ship without its commander—an officer who's not only the most respected and decorated man currently serving in Starfleet, but also a damn good friend."

"We also know that the Nexus seems able to differentiate between organic and mechanical forms," Asil said, her calm monotone a distinct contrast to Kinoshita's simmering anger. "Apparently, it will pass through a shuttlecraft or a starship, or even an android, yet absorb organic beings bodily into its phantom reality. In my opinion, before we give the commodore up for lost—not to mention the ambassador, the governor, and the two smugglers—it would be a necessary first step to determine how and why this happens. What are the ribbon's origins? Was it created for some purpose or is it a naturally occurring phenomenon? Clearly, more information about the Nexus must be gathered."

Kinoshita closed his eyes and puffed out his cheeks, but finally he nodded. "You're right," he said. "This damned Nexus is too much of a mystery. Asil, you get on to that research right away. Rudy, I want you to assist. Feel free to recruit anyone you need."

"Aye, sir," the pair acknowledged, and left the sickbay together, already talking.

"Doctor, keep an eye on the Commodore," Kinoshita continued. "I know it's naïve to hope he'll somehow regain consciousness and walk out of here, but this is the _Enterprise_ and stranger things have happened."

"Very well," Zipok said, but his tone was cynical. "I'll monitor him, as you ordered. But, Commander—or should I say Captain…" He straightened his shoulders. "Look, I admire the Commodore as much as you do, and I too consider him one of my closest friends. But, when we get down to it, he is a machine. A mechanical, man-made construct."

"Your point, Dr. Zipok," Kinoshita said coldly.

"Truthfully," the Bolian said, "while the technology to construct a being like Data may exist, we understand less about what sparks a being's consciousness than we do about the Nexus. And in my medical opinion, the body you see lying there on that medi-cot is no more the Commodore we know than your fingernail clippings or that stubble you shaved from your chin this morning is you."

"The whole is more than the sum of its parts, is that what you're saying?" Kinoshita said.

"What I'm saying," the doctor said, "is that whether Data's mind was erased by the ribbon's gravimetric field or somehow absorbed into the Nexus itself, I don't have clue one how it ever fit into that positronic housing he calls a brain. Heck, I don't know how my consciousness attaches to the wrinkly gray mush I call a brain! There's no one in the Federation who does. That's because the mind's not something that can be seen or touched. It can't be extracted and studied like an organ or a tumor. It's metaphysical, an intangible, a quality of life that has yet to be defined. So, even if you do manage to miraculously locate Data's consciousness out there, I'd still have no way of restoring him."

"Well," Kinoshita said, "let's worry about all that when we get to it, OK? For now, just make sure nothing happens to the parts of him we do have. Lt. Devna, are you fit for duty?"

"Yes, sir," the Orion said, sliding off the medi-cot straight into attention.

"She'll be fine," the nurse confirmed.

"Good," the acting-captain said. "Then join me on the bridge. You too, Councilor. I've got Asil and Rudy working on the physical aspects of that energy menace. Maybe you can help us out with Dr. Zipok's 'intangibles.'"

_To Be Continued..._


	9. Chapter 9

Hi Everyone! Thanks for your reviews, and your encouragement. The next chapter's rather long, but I hope you like it!

Chapter Nine

Data opened his eyes and realized that he was lying on a medi-cot, surrounded on all sides by bio-monitors that bleeped and chirped in time with his body's various rhythms. He made an effort to sit up, but the resistance of a restraint field held him motionless.

"Doctor!" a woman's voice called out. "Sir! He's regained consciousness!"

Data heard a shuffle of activity from an adjoining room, followed by footsteps. He inferred from the sound that they were the footsteps of a rather elderly man wearing rubber-soled slippers. Sure enough, a moment later, a man's gnarled hand slid into his field of vision and tenderly smoothed the hair back from his forehead.

"How are you feeling, boy?"

Data blinked twice and tried to turn his head. That voice… He knew that voice. But—

"No, no, don't try to move," the man said, remaining frustratingly out of his line of sight. "Just…just do your best to answer my questions. Can you tell me your name?"

"My name is Data," Data told him.

The old man chuckled. "Good enough, good enough," he said. "Do you know where you are, Data?"

"I am lying on a medi-cot," Data said.

"As literal as ever, I see. But that's good. Very good. Do you know why you're lying on a medi-cot?"

Data thought back, but was unable to access the relevant memory files. Even more disturbing, there seemed to be a block inhibiting access to many of his long and short-term memories. He said so.

"That's to be expected," the old man said, although he sounded somewhat disappointed. "But, your memories should return in time. For now, I just want you to rest, Data. The girls will be in to see you soon."

The man patted Data's shoulder and used the cot as leverage to help him turn and hobble the few steps to the end of the bed. Data waited until the wispy white hair at the back of his head was in view, then called him back.

"Father?"

Dr. Soong turned to face him. Data felt a strange flush surge through his systems. Dr. Soong should not have been there. Data couldn't remember exactly why, but he knew, he _knew_ his father's presence there was wrong.

"Yes, Data?" the old man asked.

"Why _am_ I lying on a medi-cot?"

Dr. Soong's lips twitched upward in a slow, crooked smile and he shuffled back to Data's side. "You were attacked, son," the old man croaked in his quavery voice. "A Chameloid shot you with a phaser: high stun at close range. The energy discharge disrupted the interface between your body and your positronic brain. The medical and engineering staff here are a good crew, but they weren't sure how to cope, so they called me in."

Data furrowed his brow. "I do not understand," he said. "What is this place? I…I seem to remember I was piloting a shuttle. There was someone with me—"

"The Chameloid," Dr. Soong supplied.

"Yes… A Chameloid…" Data repeated. That sounded right, but he could have sworn there was someone else as well. Another man. A Klingon…?

"I was told you were transporting this Chameloid to a prison colony when he used his shapeshifting abilities to slip his bonds and access the hatch that held the shuttle's phaser," Soong said, derailing his son's train of thought. "You struggled and, when he realized he couldn't overpower you, he fired. Two shots to the chest and one to the head. If you hadn't activated the emergency transport to send the two of you back to the _Enterprise_…" He shook his head. "Well, the alternative doesn't bear thinking about." He patted Data's shoulder. "You rest now. Just close your eyes and think of something pleasant. I'll go tell the girls you're all right."

"The girls?" Data asked.

"Yes, yes. They're just outside," the old man said. "And I'll tell you, boy, I may be a genius, but these old hands…" He looked down at his gnarled fingers. "Well, they don't have quite the dexterity they had in the old days. But your mother, Juliana, she worked right by my side, hour after hour. Wouldn't let up, not even to accept a glass of water. And that little girl of yours, well, what can I say. The apple didn't fall far from the tree there, eh, my boy?" He smiled proudly.

"My…" Data's eyes shot wide open. "Lal? Lal is here?" At the mention of his daughter, the missing memory suddenly sprung to light. Data strained against the medical forcefield, struggling to sit up, to fight his way off the cot.

"Data— Stay still! Be careful, boy—" Soong protested, but Data wouldn't relax.

"Please, you must tell me where I am," he said.

"Data, stop this. I don't want to have to call in one of those nurses—"

Data stopped his struggling and stared straight up into Dr. Soong's anxious, blue eyes.

"Lal cannot be here," Data stated. "Lal is dead. And so are you."

"What?" Dr. Soong shook his head. "Data, you don't—"

"The real Lal and Noonian Soong are dead," Data insisted. "Lal suffered cascade failure years ago, in my lab on the _Enterprise-D_. And you, sir—you were murdered by my brother, Lore. Someone or something is attempting to deceive me. But, for what purpose?"

"Data—Data, no. Data, listen to me," Soong stated, grasping Data's shoulder with firm insistence. "Listen to me, boy. You have been through a major trauma. Whole neural pathways had to be reconstructed. It's natural that you feel disoriented…even frightened. But what you are describing…those memories you think are real? They're a result of the operation, boy. They're akin to the dreams of a man who suffered from oxygen deprivation while under anesthesia. Those thoughts, those dreams—_they_ are the illusion. This, though—" He reached out to press Data's hand between the callused palms of his own. "My palm…my pulse… This is real, son. If you don't trust my words, then trust your own senses. What do they tell you?"

Data turned his eyes to the side, his head swimming with disorientation. Could Dr. Soong be telling the truth? Could his memories of his daughter's death, his father's murder…could they be the fabrications? But, he had been so certain…

"It is difficult to see much from this cot," Data said, "but your hand does seem warm and solid. I can hear the nurses and doctors in the other room, and no place other than a sickbay has that smell… But senses can be easily deceived. This could all be a holo-projection, or an illusion devised by a being of great power, such as a member of the Q Continuum. Until I am provided with more evidence, I am afraid I cannot accept you at your word that this is reality."

"Fair enough." Soong chuckled, smoothing Data's hair back in a calming gesture. "That's fair enough. You're a smart boy, Data…if a little paranoid. If it's evidence you want, it's evidence you'll get. But, I want you to listen to me, son. Are you listening?"

Data nodded. Soong smoothed his palm down the side of Data's face to his cheek, then took his hand again. "You have a wife, a daughter, and a mother out there who have been climbing the walls with worry," he said. "_I_ know you're confused right now, trying to figure things out, but talk like that will only send them into a panic. And, quite honestly, it won't fly that well with your captain either. Now, you go ahead and play Descartes and build up your checklist of evidence that this is reality, but keep it to yourself for now, OK? I'm going to go out there and let our girls in. Do you think you're up to seeing them?"

Data nodded again, and waited while Soong let go of his hand and shuffled through the adjoining room to an outer door. He was alone, but it wouldn't be for long. Staring at the ceiling, he ran his eyes through every setting, from infrared to ultraviolet, but could not detect any sort of holographic projection field. Keeping his voice just low enough so the nurses in the other room wouldn't hear him, he then called out, "Q? Q? Are you there? Is this your doing, Q?"

There was no response from the self-titled omnipotent being, but Data did notice a flash of movement near the foot of his cot. He strained to raise his head enough to make it out, and caught the profile of a very familiar face.

"Guinan?" he said, but she was gone and he could hear his family approaching. The quality of light in the room shifted from slightly blue and artificial to a much warmer, summery gold and then his wife was in his arms, her lips pressed to his. The sensation triggered a memory from very long ago; of a peculiar and highly intoxicating water molecule that had infiltrated the _Enterprise-D_ a short time after he'd signed on board, and the fierce, vulnerable, beautiful security chief who had lured him to her bedroom…

"Tasha…" he breathed.

The slender woman pulled back from their embrace and he saw her familiar smile, her wry blue eyes. Tasha seemed older than he remembered, and her pale, blonde hair was longer—not a bobbed cut but long enough to be pulled back in a loose, though efficient bun.

She pecked his lips again. "Mm, love ya." She smiled, then she took his hand and pulled. "Let's join the party."

Data tilted his head in confusion. "Party…? But—"

They were on a planet—quite a lovely, green sort of place, enhanced by neatly manicured flowering trees and calm, mirror-like ponds. From a shaded valley below, a warm breeze carried traces of an upbeat tune, mingled with the chudder of hundreds of happy voices and the rich scent of savory pastries. Elegant tents in a range of dappled blues and purples gleamed in the sun, each adorned with long strips of delicate, opalescent fabric that floated and rippled in the wind. And, above it all, a cheerful announcer was saying, "…and it seems the spirits are with us on this beautiful afternoon here in the East Province. Oh—and I can hear those kcabybab ribs sizzling on the grill—"

"Data, aren't you coming?" Tasha called. Data was surprised to see she was already several meters away.

"Yes. Yes, in a moment," he replied, still struggling to get a handle on his swimming thoughts. He'd been lying in sickbay just a moment ago…hadn't he? Or, perhaps he had dreamed that. Now he thought back, he seemed to remember— Yes. This was the annual Atrean Luck Festival. His parents had invited him and Tasha and Lal to spend their leave with them at their home on the planet Atrea, where the couple had moved after abandoning Dr. Soong's laboratory on that isolated jungle planet, Terlina III. The memories were so clear, how could he have forgotten?

"Data?" Tasha seemed concerned now, starting to walk toward him. "Data, are you sure you're up to this?" We can go back to the ship if—"

"No." Data blinked twice, to clear his head, and offered his wife a reassuring smile. "No, I am quite well."

Data heard the pound of running footsteps on the grass and turned, his smile broadening to a beaming grin when he caught sight of his daughter hurrying toward them up the flower-speckled hill.

"Lal…!"

"Father!" Lal called, slightly out of breath as she skidded to a stop beside her parents. She was a petite, slender girl, apparently in her mid-to-late teens, with large, dark eyes and straight, black hair cropped just below her ears. When choosing her name, Data had taken a cue from his father, whose ancestors had been of Indian descent. In the language Hindi, her name meant 'beloved.'

"Lal!" Data said again, and pulled her close in a fierce embrace. "It is so good to see you, Lal!"

"Yeah…oof. It's good to see you too," the girl said, and squirmed out of his grasp. "May I have eighty credits?"

"Eighty?" Tasha frowned. "What for?"

"I saw this beautiful Atrean skirt at one of the booths down there, and the woman told me I could have it for eighty credits."

"That's a ridiculous price. That woman is trying to take advantage of you," Tasha said. "You show me this skirt, and we'll see if we can't talk the price down a bit. Data?" She turned to her husband. "Are you certain you're feeling all right?"

Lal tilted her head. "Why, is something wrong?" she asked, concern lighting her eyes. "Father, you're not still getting those blackouts? Grandfather told me just yesterday that your systems were well on the way to settling back to normal. He said the organo-synthetic interface between your body and your brain had almost completely rejuvenated itself."

Data wrinkled his forehead. "Organo-synthetic interface…?"

He glanced down, only to feel a jolt of surprise. His uniform was different—not the stylized black and chartreuse of a commodore, but the more old fashioned gray and cranberry command officers had worn during his days on the _Enterprise-E._ And his hands…! Far from the whitish-gold color he'd expected to see, the skin of his hands seemed darker than Lal's.

His breathing quickened, and the ground beneath him suddenly seemed unsteady. There was a pounding in his chest…he could hear it in his ears. Lal grabbed his shoulder.

"Father!"

"I'm calling sickbay," Tasha said.

"No...no," Data insisted, shaking off the peculiar reaction. What had he been thinking…imagining he had pasty gold skin. "It was just another flashback to those nightmares I had when you and your grandfather were digging around in my brain," he told Lal. "I had the strangest notion my body was fully synthetic…and that I was not a human at all."

"That is strange," Lal said, peering anxiously into his blue eyes. "But it does make sense. You told me of the Crystalline Entity's attack on Omicron Theta when you were a small child—how you and Granny Juliana nearly died. A few more hours, and Grandfather would have had to design you an android body just like he did for Granny. And I probably wouldn't be here." She smirked at her parents. "After all, androids can't reproduce."

"Not the same way humans do, no," Data acknowledged. "But I'd have found a way. I could not imagine a life without my beloved girls."

"Nice to know I'm included in there somewhere," Tasha teased. "You were referring to me, yes?"

"Of course." Data grinned and took his wife and daughter by the hand. "I am feeling gregarious," he said. "I suggest we go down to the festival and blow an absurd number of credits on spiced pastries and sweets."

"And skirts," Lal added.

"Well, if that's your attitude," Tasha said, "there's this lovely sapphire pendant I saw near the spun sugar cones. It's a rather extravagant piece, and I was inclined to pass it up, but it did remind me of your eyes…"

Data chuckled. "I'd be willing to take a look," he said, and kissed her hand. "Why don't you and Lal see about that skirt. We can meet up again at the bandstand, and if you're lucky," he teased, "I may bring back some of that special Atrean frozen mousse?"

"Yes!" Lal cheered. "I'd like chocolate cherry, please."

"And for you?" Data smiled at Tasha.

"Walnut fudge," she said, "in a chocolate-toffee dipped cone."

The trio kissed and parted, the girls heading toward the tents on the left, Data straight down the congested center path. He had barely gone ten steps, when he caught a flash of movement in his positronically-enhanced peripheral vision.

He stopped short and turned his head. A woman stood barely a meter to his right, draped in flowing purple fabric. A broad, flat hat covered her dark hair, which was twisted into dozens of layered braids. Data recognized her at once.

"Guinan!" he exclaimed. "Have you come for the festival as well?"

The woman turned her head to face him, her dark lips smiling gently, but her eyes were deep with sorrow. Something twitched deep, deep within Data's mind, and the world around him grew subtly different. Less substantial, somehow. More…more like a cherished reverie, a daydream so worn and welcoming it was an indelible part of him. And he and Guinan stood within, yet apart from it, observers on the outskirts of a reality that belonged to him alone.

"You could say that," the El-Aurian said in her low, warm voice. "Mostly, I came to see you, Data. I was curious to know how you were getting on."

Data watched his wife and daughter as they melted into the happy crowds. "My family, Guinan," he said, his eyes filling as emotions swelled in his warm, human heart. "My family are here. My father, my mother, Lal. Tasha. I…I am no longer alone."

"I know, Data," Guinan said, patting his hand with a sympathetic smile. "I know."

"I have wondered…often, over the years…if they were waiting for me, somewhere," he said. "I watched my father die, Guinan. I saw the light leave his eyes. I saw a similar light disappear when Lal shut down… Her eyes became dull, glassy…as if she were no more than a doll."

"Data…"

"I believe I know where I am," he said, swallowing back the tears that threatened to spill over his cheeks. "Something in my subconscious has tried very hard to block it, to keep me from acknowledging the truth that this...this is not reality. But, the Nexus does not absorb machines, Guinan," he said. "And I—I cannot—"

He cut himself off, unable to quite put his anxieties into words. Guinan just listened, as calm and as patient as always.

"Captain Louvois once asked if I have a soul," he said quietly. "It is a question that has troubled me deeply ever since." He turned to her, his blue eyes wide and vulnerable. "Is that what the Nexus is, Guinan?" he asked. "A haven for lost souls?"

Guinan glanced up at him, then sighed. "I'm sorry, Data," she said. "I can't say if it is or not. But I don't see your shuttlecraft here, or your tricorder. Whatever it is, the Nexus recognized something in you, Data, something more than metal and plastic and circuits, and it made this happen." She gestured to the bustling fairground, that to Data seemed farther away than ever.

"The Nexus is a strange place, Data," Guinan continued. "The scenarios it creates are more than mere illusion. Within them, you can live out your heart's most precious dreams. And, you can visit the dreams of others."

"Is that why you're here?" he asked. "To witness an android's dreams? Rather cliché so far, are they not? A human body. Tasha, Lal and my father all back from the dead…"

"You'd be surprised, Data," the El-Aurian said. "Not everyone can imagine such a warm and loving family life."

Data considered her curiously.

"I don't mean me," she said, and stretched her lips into another inscrutable smile.

"The Nexus can be a powerful tool, once you acknowledge its illusions," she said. "You can use it to experience the childhood you never knew. You could marry Tasha all over again; hold your infant daughter in your arms for the first time. You can visit your grandchildren, or shake free of your physical bonds and travel between the stars as a beam of light. There are no limits to what you can be, what you can do…within the limits of the Nexus itself. Me, I do what I always do. I get involved, lend an ear to the newcomers as they struggle to adjust to this peculiar, and potent reality. And, when someone's in trouble, I try to help."

Data narrowed his eyes. "Are you implying someone is in trouble?"

Guinan regarded him, her eyes deep and knowing. Data found himself casting his thoughts back to memories the Nexus had tried to block. Memories of the moments before the ribbon hit…

"Alexander," he realized, and his eyes opened wide. "Alexander is in the Nexus too. And Worf?"

She nodded, but her expression was grim. Data tilted his head, concerned.

"You can only experience the dreams of another if you're willing to leave your own fantasy behind," Guinan told him. "If I'm asking too much—"

"No," Data shook his head. "No, Guinan, you were quite right to seek me out. I am a Starfleet Commodore. My primary duty is to my ship. I must therefore locate Worf and Alexander and find a way to return to the _Enterprise__._"

Guinan's smile seemed sad. "It's not an easy thing to resist the pull of the Nexus," she said. "The pull of your heart."

"Perhaps not," Data said, and cast his eyes regretfully over the cheerful tents and milling crowds. "But I may yet be back. If our attempts to return to reality fail…or even if they succeed… Who can say? My family may still be waiting for me, in that undiscovered country the living cannot know."

Guinan nodded and gave his hand a gentle squeeze. "It's this way, Data," she said, and led him out of his dreams into a completely different reality.

_To Be Continued…_

_References include ST:TNG "Brothers," "Datalore," "The Naked Now," "The Offspring," "The Measure of a Man," "Inheritance," "In Theory," Star Trek: Generations and the TNG books "Imzadi" and "Metamorphosis."_

Reviews are always welcome. Please, let me know what you think! :)_  
_


	10. Chapter 10

Update! Sorry about the wait!

Chapter Ten

The sleek government transport sped through the Klingon capital's dark, deserted backstreets. Alexander stared bleakly at his reflection in the tinted window. The man staring back at him looked bleary and unkempt, his eyes red and puffy from lack of sleep. The dim light showed up all the lines and creases on his face, highlighting the fact that there were now more silver bristles on his unshaven chin than there were brown ones.

"When did that happen?" he muttered, running a hand over the rough stubble.

The transport left him at the delegate's entrance to the High Council chambers. The weary ambassador didn't even glance at the imposing architecture or the elaborately armed guards as he stumped across the wide courtyard and through the heavy, sliding doors.

"Sir-" the uniformed guard inside tried to stop him, but he flashed his biometric ID with a snarl.

"Rozhenko," he snapped. "Federation Ambassador to the Klingon Empire."

"Ambassador," the guard acknowledged, thumping his armored breastplate with his fist and stepping back. Alexander kept walking, refusing to let himself react to the warrior's mocking smile.

The word was out; the ruins of Alexander's personal life were splattered all over the information feeds. Headlines everywhere trumpeted how the Klingon Contradiction had at last pushed too far in his quest for peace in the Empire and, in his folly, taken on the Great Houses. Unable to bear the shame, his wife had taken their adolescent daughter and returned to her father's House, publicly shunning her husband's name.

It would be so easy to just let himself crumble under the weight of it all; to admit his folly, and allow the status quo of ancient blood feuds and petty skirmishes to quietly settle back in place. But, Alexander knew his was a fight that needed waging.

The Klingon Empire had reached a crossroads in its development. If it continued to face the universe divided by petty feuds and infighting, the Klingons would soon find themselves falling behind, developing into a stagnant, insular, traditionalist culture while progressive races like the Cardassians, the Romulans, and the Bajorans took their place at the center of interstellar politics. The Great Houses had to stop warring on one another if the Empire was to move forward and prosper. It was a fact that was becoming more self-evident every year. And, Alexander was determined to keep pressing for that peace, in the Council and in the media, no matter the personal cost.

The main High Council Chamber was a stark, cavernous room, its red lighting and grim shadows mirroring Alexander's mood.

Most of the Council Members were already gathered around the Chancellor's seat, talking in small groups. As Alexander approached, many broke into jeering grins.

"If it isn't the Klingon Contradiction," Ja'Rok scoffed. "And how is your lovely wife, O Peace-Lover? Oh—that's right," he said, playing to the amused crowd. "I have heard that Tavana has forsworn your bed and House. Could it be the Federation's pet pacifist is too soft to satisfy a Klingon woman?"

"Ha!" Councilor M'arog taunted. "And what of his daughter? Is it true she declined to list her father's name on her university applications? Could it be she is embarrassed to admit she was sired by a fat, flaccid _P'Tok_?"

Alexander bared his teeth, but before he could respond another, deeper voice broke in.

"Leave him alone."

Ja'Rok turned to face the old man who had spoken.

"Ah, Councilor Worf," he said. "Are we to understand that you support your son's position? That you believe we Klingons must end the feuding between the Great Houses? That we must put aside our warlike ways and embrace the Federation ideals of _cooperation_ and _mutual understanding_?"

He spat the words out, as if they tasted rancid in his mouth.

"I say nothing of the kind," Worf growled, broad and imposing in his silver robes. "But my son does make a valid point. What do we gain from continually fighting amongst ourselves? Only dead Klingon warriors – warriors whose skills could better service the Empire if they were used against our true enemies!"

"Our true enemies are in this room!" roared Councilor M'arog. "They are those who threaten to put an end to our way of life! Who wish us to deny the Klingon heart – the Klingon soul – and turn our backs on the Warrior's Path. The path of our ancestors!"

"That is not my position," Alexander snarled through gritted teeth. "You misunderstand my words."

"_Words_," Ko'Rek spat. "True Klingons speak through actions! If you were a true Klingon, instead of a Federation _urwI __pujwI'_ -"

Worf stepped forward and grabbed Ko'Rek by the throat. "You dare call my son a traitor!"

"Father-" Alexander protested, but Ja'Rok stepped in front of him, his armored fist coming at him like a spiny eel. Alexander dodged and blocked reflexively, but his fighting skills were too rusty and his physical condition too poor to last long against a trained warrior. Ja'Rok grabbed Alexander by his heavy robes and threw him aside, sending the ambassador sprawling on the smooth floor.

What happened next was too fast for Alexander to process. Ja'Rok and the other Councilors seemed to swarm Worf. There was movement, grunts, yells - then a flash of red light on polished metal. Alexander scrambled to his feet, but by then the attackers were already dispersing, some clutching bleeding wounds and turning now and then to hurl a curse at his father's bloodied, fallen form. Only one stayed behind. M'arog. The middle-aged Councilor knelt on the floor, holding Worf's eyelids open and staring into his eyes. A moment later, M'arog turned his head to the ceiling and let out a harsh, blood-curdling howl - a warning to the dead that a Klingon warrior was arriving to join them.

"No..." Alexander's world lurched dizzily, and he took a swaying step back. "Barbarians!" he cried, his voice cracking with horror. "You think yourselves noble warriors? You're no better than murdering _veQ_, ganging up on an old man like that. Your quarrel was with me, not him!"

M'arog paused at the door and turned back to face him, his brown teeth bared in a grim smile.

"And where is the honor in killing a soft, cringing _bIHnuch_ like you?" he said, poking the ambassador's rounded belly. "Do you really not understand what has transpired here? Your father is dead. Yes. He died because he defended your...misguided...notions. But, Worf was a warrior. His life was one of honor and of service. As a warrior, he met his fate fighting, and he faced his death like a Klingon, with eyes wide open. His only true shame, as far as I can tell, was his failure to instill our Klingon values in the heart of his _P'Tok_ of a son."

The Councilor spat and shoved Alexander aside on his way out of the room. Alexander stumbled against a thick pillar, but made no move to retaliate.

And, why should he? M'arog was right. Worf was a warrior. Had been a warrior. In the eyes of Klingon society, he had met an honorable death, in combat, in defense of his son.

His shameful coward of a son, who had allowed himself to be tossed across the room like a child by his father's enemies instead of fighting beside him as a man.

Slowly, very slowly, Alexander shuffled to his father's body and fell to his knees by his side. Bright magenta blood pooled on the floor, oozing from the numerous knife wounds in Worf's chest, his arms. It was like a scene from a nightmare; a dream Alexander had had over and over again when he was a child.

The nightmares had begun shortly after K'mtar – a friend of his father's – had come to the _Enterprise_-D to check on Alexander's knowledge of Klingon teachings and weapons training. The grim Klingon had found the boy wanting in every respect. The night K'mtar left the ship, Alexander dreamed he'd seen the man standing at his bedside, a Klingon blaster in his hand. In his dream, Worf had tackled the would-be assassin to the ground before he could fire, but K'mtar had warned Worf that if Alexander did not change, if he did not learn the Ways of the Warrior, he would live to see Worf killed, and find himself powerless to prevent it.

The dream had rattled Alexander badly. Always before, his nightmares had been of his mother, murdered in cold blood by a monster with sharp teeth and wild hair who called himself a Klingon warrior. The image of that man, Duras, was burned into his psyche, the representation of everything he never wanted to be. Cruel and violent, sly and devious. As a child, Alexander would stare into the mirror and worry he would grow into a man like that, that he wouldn't be able to help it, that it was written in his genes.

K'mtar's visit had put a new spin on his oldest fears. He made Alexander understand for the first time that his weapons training was not necessarily a path toward violence but, perhaps, a means of staving it off. He began to realize that if he learned the skills his father wanted him to learn, he might be able to use them, not as a warrior, but as a protector.

So he'd made time for training. Not much, but enough to pass each level on the holodeck. Then, when war broke out with the Dominion, he'd joined the Klingon service...only to find not only were his skills laughably poor, he could not bring himself to kill, not even in defense of those he loved.

So, he'd turned to words. To reason. As a mediator, he'd been able to defend and preserve peace, to foster understanding between bitter enemies. His talents had been admired everywhere...

Except where they mattered most. On his homeworld. Within his family. There, his ideals had been turned against him, his words blunted and bent until now he crouched on the Council floor, his robes soaked with his father's cooling blood, feeling K'mtar's nightmare prophesy like a dagger in his soul.

"You were right, Father," the ambassador whispered hoarsely. "You were right and I was wrong. If I had listened to you...if I had become the warrior you had wanted me to be... I worked so hard, so hard for the cause of peace. You stepped back, gave me the freedom to choose my own path. But all the time, you knew... You _knew_ my precious principles would leave me a fool. I am...alone now. Rejected - abandoned by my Family, my culture... A spineless, human child, not worthy even of an assassin's blade."

He swallowed a choking wave of guilt.

"If only I could go back," he croaked. "I would change things, change myself... If I could do this Father, I swear, you would never again feel ashamed of your _P'Tok_ of a son."

"Alexander!"

His head snapped up in alarm at the sharp boom of his father's voice. Somehow, the space around him had changed. The Council chamber...his father's body... All of it was gone, replaced with the soft colors and soothing light of his childhood bedroom aboard the _Enterprise-D. _

"Father?" he said, and coughed, surprised by the high, childish sound. He looked at his hands, his clothes, and dashed to the mirror.

A young boy stared back at him, eyes wide and mouth agape.

"Impossible..."

"Alexander," Worf boomed again and strode into the room, young and strong and undeniably alive. "I thought we agreed that you would finish your homework before-"

"_Father!_" Alexander cried and dove at Worf, wrapping his skinny arms around his waist as far as they would go. "Yes, Father! I'll do anything you say. I promise! And I will be a warrior. I'll light the kor'tova candle and pass all the Rites of Ascension, and you'll be proud of me, Father. I'll make you so proud of me!"

Worf stared down at the boy, completely taken aback.

"Good," he said, awkwardly placing his hands on his son's shoulders. "I am pleased you have finally found an appreciation for your Klingon heritage. But what brought this on, so suddenly?"

Alexander glanced around the room and pounced on his data padd. "It's all the books I've been reading about the Klingon Empire," he said. "I want to be a part of it, Father. I want to grow up and stand by your side as a real Klingon warrior."

Worf's dark face practically glowed.

"Then, come," he said, leading the way to the living room, "we will light the candles together."

Alexander beamed and followed his father, the pain and disappointments of his former life washed away by an intoxicating joy, and a firm determination to never let his father down again.

_To Be Continued..._

_References made to Star Trek: The Next Generation episodes "Firstborn," "Heart of Glory," and "Reunion" and to DS9 episode "Sons and Daughters."_


	11. Chapter 11

Thanks so much for your reviews and encouragement, everyone! Here's some more story. Hope you enjoy it! :)

Chapter Eleven

The transition was smooth and immediate, with none of the tingling or fading or jolting sense of displacement experienced in a transporter. One moment Data was standing on Atrea, surrounded by the warm, pastoral scents and sounds of a bustling outdoor festival. Before his next breath, he was following Guinan through a dense, sweltering jungle. The still, humid air hung heavily on his shoulders, alive with the screams and chitters of alien birds and insects, and the earthy, sour stench of wild fungi, exotic flowers, and decaying fruit tickled his nose.

Data sneezed. Before he could recover enough to analyze the experience, he sneezed again and again.

"Gesundheit."

Guinan handed him a mauve handkerchief.

"Allergies?"

"Unknown," he said, thanking her before he cleared his irritated sinuses and tucked the handkerchief away. "I have never before been subject to any allergic reaction. Perhaps here, in this form, I-"

He cut himself off, and held his hands up before his eyes.

"Most intriguing," Data said, staring in wonder at his white-gold fingers, then down at his uniform. He was again wearing the colors and insignia of a twenty-fifth century Starfleet Commodore. The strange, disconcerting sensations he had experienced in his "dream" of warm, human blood coursing in and out of an organic, beating heart were gone, replaced by the familiar pulses and rhythms of his android body.

"And most curious," he added. "I appear, once again, to be a machine. Yet, as the Nexus does not absorb machines, I am forced to conclude that this, too, is somehow an illusion. And yet..." He tilted his head, struggling to puzzle out the mystery in which he found himself.

"The Nexus is a realm of energy," he mused, "yet Captain Picard was able to physically leave the Nexus when he returned to Veridian III with Captain Kirk to fight Dr. Soran. That implies that physical forms are not necessarily absorbed into the Nexus, but are perhaps stored as individual energy patterns waiting to be retrieved, rather along the lines of a transporter's pattern buffer. If that is the case, and the Nexus has recognized me as a life form, it may be possible that my true physical form is also on file. Guinan, do you think-"

"Data," the El-Aurian said, holding up a staying hand. "I don't know. I can't explain any of this scientifically. I can function here, better than most perhaps, but that doesn't mean I know how or why the Nexus works as it does. All I can tell you comes from experience. And experience has taught me that, no matter how we may appear in our own fantasies, when we step outside into the dreams of others we tend look like the picture of ourselves we carry around in our heads."

Data nodded thoughtfully; a small, bird-like motion.

"And, how do I look, Guinan?"

She squinted her eyes, taking him in from all angles.

"Was your nose always that big?"

"My-" Data anxiously felt his nose, but dropped his hands when he heard the El-Aurian chuckle.

"Hm. Very funny," he said, and looked around at the spiky, dew-drenched flowers and broad, leathery leaves that surrounded them. "Guinan," he said. "Is this Worf's fantasy, or Alexander's?"

"Worf's," she said, leading the way through the undergrowth to skirt a bubbling, steaming swamp. "Although, it's Alexander I'm really concerned about."

"Why?" Data asked, following her effortlessly over the difficult terrain.

"Our experiences here are driven by the needs and wishes of our psyches," Guinan said. "If that psyche is damaged, somehow – whether by some brain anomaly or by some emotional trauma – the Nexus, in its attempt to create pleasure, only ends up reflecting and reinforcing that psychological damage. Instead of experiencing heaven, the victims find themselves drawn into a hell of their own making. I've seen it before, Data, too many times."

Data wrinkled his forehead.

"But, Guinan, I spoke with Alexander before...this incident," he said. "Aside from showing symptoms of rather high, though understandable, stress, the ambassador seemed quite well adjusted and aware of himself and his actions. I did not observe any overt signs of psychological damage."

"The signs aren't always overt, Data," the El-Aurian said. "Especially if the hurt is an old one."

Guinan paused their progress and looked at him, her eyes tight with a bitter pain.

"You know my people were scattered when the the Borg destroyed our world."

"Yes," he said. "You mentioned - "

"Well, what I didn't mention – what I've never discussed – was the personal trauma. It's a shocking thing to lose one's homeworld. One's roots. Devastation...doesn't come close to defining the hurt."

"I believe I understand," Data said quietly. When he saw Guinan regarding him, he explained, "I too lost my homeworld, in a sense. I mean in no way to belittle your experience, but, when I was first awakened by the Starfleet away team that found me among the remains of the Omicron Theta science colony, it was only to learn that I was utterly alone. I had the memories of the colonists stored in my brain, but the colonists themselves were gone. Everything they were, everything they had built, had been destroyed when the Crystalline Entity attacked. Everything, except me. Thinking back, I am certain that if I had been emotionally aware at that time, such a terrible understanding would have triggered a nervous break. Still, even equipped only with the abstracted sensibilities of a machine, the desire, the need, to end that loneliness, to find a sense of belonging within a larger group, was a driving force in my decision to apply to Starfleet Academy. That decision, however, did not immediately pay off. All through the Academy and on my early starship assignments, I was treated by Starfleet's representatives as no more than a walking computer. So much so, that I began to believe it myself. Without a homeworld, I had no connection to a shared past or culture. I did not even know the name of my creator. My loneliness and isolation remained a frustrating constant, until I found acceptance serving aboard Captain Picard's _Enterprise. _ The Captain's kindness and understanding was echoed by the crew, and the friendships I forged there – the first I had ever known – did much to soothe that early wound."

Guinan nodded slowly, a distant smile creasing her lips.

"Picard did much the same for me, when I was in pain," she said. "We were the lucky ones, Data. We found the acceptance, the love, we needed to help us heal and to grow. Many of my fellow refugees, trapped here in the Nexus, did not. They remain stunted, angry, afraid. The realities they built here are as harmful as they are seductive, fed continually by their survivors' guilt. My people blame themselves for their inability to defeat the Borg, to save their families and their homes. That guilt permeates their dreams, forcing them to live and re-live scenarios that only ever end in self-defeat."

Data tilted his head, his golden eyes sliding from side to side as he identified her implied analogy - and her answer to his previous question.

"You are concerned that Alexander is experiencing a similar scenario," he realized. "One which he finds psychologically alluring, but which can only end in self-defeat. And we are here because you believe Worf holds the key to breaking that self-destructive cycle?"

Guinan really did smile then.

"You've gotten quite perceptive in your old age," she said.

Data furrowed his brow.

"Guinan," he said, "I am an android. As such, my chronological age does not correspond with the observed stages of the human aging-"

Guinan rolled her eyes.

"It's a joke, Data," the El-Aurian said. "And a compliment. Just accept it, and let's move on."

Data nodded, and the pair resumed their trek through the dank, oppressive jungle.

_To be continued..._

_References made to ST:TNG "Datalore" and "The Next Phase" and to Star Trek: Generations._

_Next Time: A glimpse into Worf's dreamscape... Stay tuned!_


	12. Chapter 12

Ta da! Worf shows up at last. Hope you like this next part!

Chapter Twelve

Worf raised his head and sniffed the air, his crimped gray hair falling over his shoulders like the mane of a predatory _cob'lat. _

His quarry was near. Very little breeze could pass through the thick, jungle vegetation, so the humid air caught and held the creature's scent.

_There!_ A rustle of movement under the leaves. Worf grinned and raised his spear to shoulder-level, his heart-rate rising in anticipation of the kill.

"Chasing _ooghmey_ again, are we?"

It was a woman's voice, wry and playful. Her form rose up from the leaves like a shadow, slowly gaining color and depth as she stepped closer, revealing the fact that her nimble body was sheathed in the flexible, formfitting armor of a Klingon warrior.

Worf nearly dropped his spear.

"Jadzia..."

"In the flesh," the shade of his wife said with a smile, which faded a little when her gauntleted hand passed through a spiny branch. "Well, close enough."

Worf's eyes narrowed suspiciously, hooded by his crested forehead.

"My supplies are low," he grunted. "If you had not interfered just now I would have had meat enough to last the next two days of my Quest."

The Trill's smile broadened, and the jungle's dappled shadows drew Worf's attention to the freckle-like spots that graced her high forehead, the sides of her face, and – as Worf knew – traveled all the way down...

"So," she said, looking him over with a rather less appreciative gaze. "The great Worf, Questing for his place in Sto'Vo'Kor like a sick old man. You don't look that decrepit. Why not just march up to the gate like a warrior and demand to be let in?"

Worf scowled.

"And why should Kahless allow me to enter his fleet? An old man, struck down by time?"

"You could fight him," she said. "Pin him against his own barrier. Recite the list of battles you have won."

"I have not seen battle for many years," Worf growled. "There are no enemies on H'atoria. No opportunities for a warrior to test his strength and courage. There is only paperwork and bureaucracy, and time. The humiliating wait for a natural and inevitable death."

Jadzia pretended to shudder. "Sounds gruesome."

"I do not expect you to understand," Worf snapped. "You are a Trill. You-"

"I am your wife, and a proud member of the House of Martok," she snapped back, her blue eyes crystal-hard.

"No. You are a test, put here by Kahless to distract me from my Quest," Worf growled. "The real Jadzia Dax was killed decades ago; murdered by that Cardassian _baktag_ Dukat while praying in a Bajoran temple!"

"You're right," she said. "I was. But thanks to you, and your success destroying the Dominion shipyards at Monac IV, my spirit was granted entry into Sto'Vo'Kor. Now, I've come to return the favor."

"Make that _we_."

Worf spun to see another armored shade stride through the underbrush to stand by Jadzia's side.

"Hello, Worf," she said, and crossed her arms, looking him up and down with an appraising air. "You let your hair grow out, I see. It's an improvement. Now, if you could only learn to smile..."

"K'Ehleyr!" Worf gasped, his face awash with discord at the dark stew of emotions the sight of her stirred up in him. Passion, anger, guilt... Betrayal.

"Still as astute as ever," the slender Klingon said with a smirk. "And apparently just as blindered by the letter of Klingon rites and traditions. There is more to faith than rules and dogma, Worf. If you had even once opened your eyes on H'atoria, you might have seen there is honor to be had even in the everyday battles against sloth, corruption, and inefficiency."

"That," Worf stated, "is a human belief."

"I am half human," K'Ehleyr said. "And yet I have been accepted by Kahless as one of his warriors. As has Jadzia, a Trill science officer of the Federation's Starfleet. So, there must be some validity to my argument."

Worf seemed to expand as his frustration grew.

"If you are here as guides, then guide," he snapped. "Show me the way to my next challenge."

K'Ehleyr raised her eyebrows.

"Touchy," she said, and slid her eyes toward Jadzia. "Seems we grazed a nerve."

Worf glared. "I am here to fight, not to stand here and listen to your lectures."

"Rude, stubborn, and impatient," K'Ehleyr observed, addressing Jadzia as if Worf were no more than a bug under glass. "And yet you took the oath with him?"

"So did you," Jadzia pointed out.

"Was it worth it?" "K'Ehleyr asked.

Jadzia smiled. "Every moment."

K'Ehleyr nodded. "Then come," she said, calling to Worf over her shoulder as she and Jadzia started marching through the underbrush. "We will take you to our ship. There's trouble brewing in the outer colonies. The Gorn have been raiding our outposts and farms."

"They used stolen cloaking technology to catch the colonists unaware," Jadzia said as they walked. The thick, slippery mud sucked at Worf's boots with every step, but the two women seemed unaffected, passing through trees and shrubs as if they weren't there. "The warriors they did not vaporize outright they stunned, and later ate. The Gorn piled their bones in the town center of each colony as a warning to the others, and a preview of their fate."

"I see," Worf said, his lips twitching upward. "So, my task is to fight these Gorn and free the surviving colonists."

"One of you against hundreds of crafty, carnivorous lizard-men," K'Ehleyr said. "Think you're up to it, old man?"

Worf grinned.

"And, if I win, will I then be granted a place in Sto'Vo'Kor?"

K'Ehleyr and Jadzia shared a short laugh.

"You chose the Quest route, Worf," Jadzia said. "Defeating this challenge is just the first step on the way."

_To Be Continued..._

References include DS9 episodes "You Are Cordially Invited...," "Tears of the Prophets," and "Shadows and Symbols;" TNG episodes "The Emissary," "Reunion," and "Rightful Heir;" and TOS episode "Arena."


	13. Chapter 13

And more! Thanks for your reviews and your support! :)

Chapter Thirteen

The Klingon Bird-of-Prey loomed above them, the sweep of its green wings shielding them from the worst of the sun's baking rays. Here in the open, away from the protection of the jungle canopy, the heat and humidity were almost unbearable. Guinan broke a smooth frond from a nearby plant and used it like a fan.

"Sure is hot," she commented.

"Indeed," Data agreed, and leaned against the ship's warm hull, crossing one foot over the other.

Guinan raised a non-existent eyebrow. A brief acknowledgment like that was all that was really required, given the circumstance. There was no reason she should have expected more. Still, Guinan recalled a young android so desperate to join in with human small talk that, given the slightest opening, he inevitably drowned the moment - and the unfortunate speaker - in a torrent of trivia. No longer, it seemed.

She waited a beat more, then said, "Data?"

The android blinked and straightened, as if startled out of a reverie. "Yes, Guinan?"

She smiled.

"What were you thinking about just now?"

"My ship," Data said. "My crew. I was wondering how they are getting along without me, and if they managed to collect any information from the probe I stationed before the Nexus hit. In addition..." he hesitated.

"Go on," she said.

"Why are we here, waiting?" he said, a hint of frustration coloring his voice. "Why are we not approaching Worf directly, as you approached me in my dreamscape?"

"Worf wants to be here, Data," Guinan said. "His immersion in this reality is totally complete. If we're to stand any chance of convincing him to leave it behind, we'll have to do it as part of his dream, or he's likely to recoil and treat us as his enemy. It was different with you. Unlike most of us here, you are an inherently rational being. The Nexus had a real struggle drawing you in to its illusions, and even then you kept fighting it. And before you say anything," she added, "it's not just because you're an android. As I recall, Picard had a similar difficulty when he was here. Kirk too. It's that tendency you explorer types have for always confronting mysteries head-on; the drive to seek answers and to question details others would easily dismiss."

"I wanted to believe," Data said. "More than anything. To know such love, to share such an unconditional sense of belonging, of family bonds... It was...deeply alluring..."

"But not convincing," Guinan said. "There were too many flaws, too many missing facts - and too much still waiting for you on the outside. Your ship, your crew, your mission. Your life. My appearance was just the reminder you needed to break the trance."

Data nodded.

"Guinan," he said. "May I ask a somewhat impudent question?"

"Impudent?" She smiled. "Go ahead."

"You are correct in your appraisal. I did doubt the reality the Nexus created for me from the start. Yet, for some reason I have not been able to pin down, I experienced no such doubt when I encountered you. Quite the opposite, in fact. I trusted you without hesitation. I allowed you to lead me from one dreamscape to another."

"And that disturbs you?"

"It does," Data said. "Given the illusory nature of reality within the Nexus, how can I trust that you are, in fact, the individual you appear to be? How can I be certain that you are not another figment of my imagination, bent on deluding me and drawing me into yet another false reality my rational mind would find more convincing?"

"That's easy," Guinan said. "You can't."

Data blinked.

"Unless," she went on, "you trust your intuition. That ineffable knowledge that lurks behind the stated facts. It's a learned skill, one you put into practice every time you play poker, investigate a mystery, or stand off against an enemy starship commander."

"I am aware of the term," Data said. "And I have had occasion to trust my decision making process to what some may describe as a form of intuition."

"OK," Guinan said. "Then tell me, Commodore. What does your intuition tell you about me?"

Data frowned, clearly struggling.

"It tells me that you are not a part of this dreamscape, any more than I am. Nor were you a part of my own dreamscape. You are something other. Something else. An independent mind, trapped here just like me."

He shook his head in frustration.

"But I cannot explain how I can know that with such certainty!"

Guinan placed a hand on his shoulder.

"Data," she said. "The Nexus is a realm of energy, and it's acting on us all the time. Concentrate. Try to make it show you what your mind has been perceiving all along."

Data looked helpless for a moment, then his eyes widened in sudden comprehension.

"That's right, Data," Guinan said. "You can control it. Space, time and thought, working together as one."

"I...I can see it," he said, his voice bright with wonder. "Waves of energy. It bends around you, around me... And them..."

He straightened, looking beyond the jungle, beyond the ship and the sun and the sky. What he saw reminded him of his friend Geordi, and the spectral chaos the blind engineer had seen through his VISOR before he got his optic implants. At first, it all seemed random - colors and shapes with no meaning or order. But, his mind soon learned to focus and he was able to pick out the swirls and eddies that marked separate mindscapes.

"There are so many," he said. "I count at least...eight hundred thousand beings. Is this how you found me, Guinan? How you found Worf? Are you able to distinguish individuals from this...dizzying morass?"

"Only after about a century of practice, Data," Guinan said, and he returned his focus to her with some relief. "Until you came, I was unique here in my ability to see all this, and to move from dream to dream without getting drawn in."

"Why?" Data asked curiously.

Guinan sighed.

"It's complicated, Data. You're probably aware that I was one of the El-Aurian refugees rescued by the _Enterprise-B_ when the Nexus hit our convoy."

"Of course. Captain Kirk was lost on that mission," Data said. "He was presumed dead until he returned from the Nexus with Captain Picard, only to perish during their struggle with Dr. Soran."

"Yes," Guinan said. "I was already half-phased when the _Enterprise_ transporter beam locked onto my signal. My physical form rematerialized aboard the ship, but part of myself was left here. I am aware of my other self, and she is aware of me. I can sense her thoughts, her memories. That's how I know so much about you. But, I am just an energy echo of a being who already exists outside. The Nexus cannot draw me in, and I cannot leave it. The only physicality I have is here."

Data's golden eyes shone with compassion.

"I'm so sorry," he said. "Perhaps, when we have retrieved Worf and Alexander, my crew and I could find a way to-"

"No, Data," the El-Aurian said. "No."

"But, surely-"

"I told you, I'm already out there. I've already been rescued. Do you understand, Data?"

"Yes," he said, and shook his head with a sigh. "I am sorry I doubted you, Guinan. You have always been quite important to me. I should have..." He smiled. "Listened more carefully."

Guinan patted his hand.

"You're doing just fine, Data," she said. "And here he comes..."

Data straightened as Worf strode into the clearing, his gray hair wild and his rough hunting clothes splattered with mud. He was flanked by two women dressed in full Klingon battle armor. Data looked slightly bemused by the sight -

- until Worf drew his sword and charged.

_To be continued..._

_References include Star Trek: Generations, Star Trek: First Contact, TNG episodes "Manhunt," "Starship Mine," "Clues," "Heart of Glory," "The Mind's Eye," "Time's Arrow" and "Where No One Has Gone Before," and the TNG novel "Immortal Coil."_


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter Fourteen

"Commander Kinoshita, there's an incoming call from Starfleet Command," Lt. Devna announced from her tactical station. "Admiral William Riker Troi requests a private channel, security protocol level one."

Kinoshita rose from the command chair and tugged the wrinkles from his uniform. "Inform the Admiral I'll view him in the Briefing Room, Lieutenant," he said, already striding across the bridge to Commodore Data's office.

The moment he stepped through the sliding doors, though, he realized he'd made a mistake choosing this room and not the Observation Lounge. The Commodore's Briefing Room resonated with Data's personality. Normally, Akira liked the room's eclectic atmosphere, but today… Today, he felt like an intruder, trespassing inside the Commodore's private sanctum. The Commander knew these feelings were irrational, that in his absence the Commodore would expect his executive officer to use the Briefing Room for private conferences, but that knowledge didn't make the sense of incursion any less...uncomfortable.

Akira took in a deep breath through his nose, then slowly let it out. The scent of rare, leather-bound books permeated the spacious office, lending it a soothing, academic feel. The familiar smell transported Kinoshita back to his days at Starfleet Academy, and Professor Data's weekly exobiology tutorials. His eyes grazed across just some of the well-thumbed volumes in Data's collection: _The Annotated Sherlock Holmes, The Complete Works of Shakespeare, The Origin of Species, Reeves-Stevens' History of the Federation, The Epic of Gilgamesh, The Prose Edda, The Phantom Tollbooth, The Code of the Woosters, Flatland, The Caves of Steel, The Positronic Man... _

Kinoshita touched the spine of that last one, then moved to the computer terminal the Commodore had personally modified to display information with much greater efficiency and speed than those used by the other officers. From there, Kinoshita could see Data's artwork on the walls – strikingly skillful and imaginative paintings the android had created himself. A black and white striped lionfish swam languidly inside a round aquarium near the porthole window. Museum quality mementos and souvenirs from a lifetime of interstellar travel and academic study lined the shelves, and tucked away in the corner behind the console, a wall mural proudly displayed the Commodore's numerous commendations – tangible proof of Starfleet's acknowledgement of Data's status as a living, sentient, independent being. Medals, after all, were awarded to people, not machines – people who pushed themselves beyond their perceived limitations. Kinoshita knew, better than most, how much that validation meant to the android.

The commander sighed and sank slowly into the commodore's chair.

"Just keeping it warm for you, sir," he spoke to the room, and activated the viewer.

The air in front of the console rippled and the holographic image of Admiral William Riker Troi was suddenly sitting across from him, looking as real and solid as if the old man were actually in the room instead of sitting in his own office back on Earth – where Kinoshita knew the Admiral was viewing a similar hologram of him.

"Admiral Troi," Kinoshita acknowledged, and reached across the desk to shake his hand. "It's good to see you again, sir. I just wish the circumstances were different."

"As do I, Commander," Troi said, his lined face grim. "How are you holding up? I know you've been friends with the Commodore for many years…"

"Almost twenty years, Admiral. Since he was a captain and I a cadet," Kinoshita said. "Data was my supervising professor at the Academy, sir. And we're not giving up on him, so if you're calling with orders to abandon our attempts to–"

"No, no, nothing like that," the Admiral said. "Not yet, anyway. I've been fighting tooth and nail to get your people the time they need to find out how to retrieve the Ambassador and revive the Commodore. But, you should be aware, Akira: Starfleet wasn't keen on granting Data's request for this assignment in the first place. They didn't like the idea of the Federation's flagship involving itself with what they view as an internal Klingon matter, and quite a minor one at that. But, you know Data – the master of the fact-filled monologue. Frankly, I think they gave in just to get him to shut up."

Kinoshita smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes.

"Admiral," he said, "you requested a secure channel..."

The Admiral sat back and nodded.

"Quite right, yes. It's about the Nexus ribbon," he said. "As you know, it only passes through our galaxy once every thirty-nine years. That makes this pretty much our one and only opportunity to study the thing within our lifetimes. It's on this basis that I was able to convince Starfleet to grant you three weeks to learn all you can about that mysterious energy ribbon and – hopefully – complete your rescue operation. But, their condition for this extra time is your silence. All research and communications regarding the ribbon is to be coded top secret until its tactical advantages can be fully explored by Starfleet's security experts."

Kinoshita wrinkled his nose.

"Tactical advantages? Of the Nexus ribbon?"

"Don't look at me," Troi said. "Personally, I don't believe this thing can be exploited as an effective weapon either by or against us. It's far too powerful a force to be controlled like that – at least, at our current level of technology. But given Dr. Soran's clumsy attempts to change the ribbon's course by destroying stars –"

"I think I understand, sir," Kinoshita said. "Starfleet wants us to find out whether the ribbon's energy can be harnessed or deflected to destroy ships or even planets."

"And, if so, to devise a defense to make sure other unscrupulous renegades like Soran can't use the ribbon against us in the future," the Admiral finished. "In the meantime, Akira, with the Commodore out of action, you have been granted the field commission of Captain of the _Enterprise_ for the duration of this mission. This position may become permanent, depending on the outcome."

"Then, I hope I'll be forgiven, sir, when I say I look forward to stepping down," Kinoshita said.

A small, distant smile creased Troi's lined face, no doubt provoked by memories of his days as Captain Picard's executive officer.

"I understand, Captain. I understand completely," he said, and chuffed a slight, humorless laugh.

"You know, I think this must be the third time Data's gone and gotten himself killed doing some damn fool heroic stunt. The first time, he lost his head, and I thought he was gone for good. The second time, he blew himself to atoms saving us and the Romulans from that Reman clone, Shinzon. It took his android mother, her immortal husband, the work of the late Dr. Ira Graves, and practically every cybernetics expert on Galor IV to bring him back to us then, and the details are still classified. When you get him back this time, you tell him I want to speak with him right away, you got that? The _moment_ you get him back. Worf too. Machine or not, Klingon or not, I don't want either of those old coots getting the idea they can put me and my wife through this hell of not knowing whether they're alive or dead, and just get away with it. Understood?"

"Will do, Admiral," Kinoshita assured him. "And, thanks...for the extra time, and for saying 'when' instead of 'if.'"

"Hey, Data was my friend long before you were born," Troi said. "Don't forget I'm rooting for you, _Enterprise. _Me and Deanna, both."

"Aye, sir."

"Troi out."

Kinoshita nodded, and the Admiral's hologram faded away. The Captain stared at the empty space where Troi had been for a few moments, then pushed Data's chair back and got to his feet.

"Three weeks," he muttered, walking to the replicator to order his - he hoped - temporary Captain's insignia. "Three damn weeks." He attached the pip to his uniform's collar, then marched back onto the bridge and up the ramp to where Asil and Rudo were collaborating at the science stations. Jemma Elbrun stood behind them, her expression pinched and tense.

"All right," he said as his officers turned to face him. Feeling their eyes on his collar, he hurried to assure them, "The promotion's only temporary, until we get our Commodore back. The Admiral's given us three weeks to get to the bottom of this mess. Anything to report?"

"We've been working to plot out the ribbon's full course in an attempt to determine its most likely origin," Asil said, the utter flatness to her voice belying her frustration. "But this has proven very difficult. There is practically no data available regarding the ribbon's movements beyond our galaxy."

"Captain," Devna spoke up. "I should inform you that, in the next three weeks, the ribbon will cut across Klingon and Romulan space and finally leave the Beta Quadrant. If our intention is to follow it, we will have to pass through the Galactic Barrier."

"Theoretically, the _Enterprise_ should be able make it through the energy barrier, Captain," Rudo rumbled, "but I can't promise you a smooth trip."

"I believe that to be a vastly overstated assessment," Asil said. "Our galaxy is ringed by a spherical halo of dark matter that extends beyond even the most ancient globular clusters. No known Federation starship has yet made it through using conventional means."

"There's always a first time," Rudy said, starting to get defensive. "This ship is more advanced than any in the Federation. She was _designed_ to traverse the outer limits of our galaxy, dark matter and all. With a few modifications to reinforce the containment tanks and the shields, I'm sure we could make it through."

"Through, perhaps. But would we be in any shape to make it back again?" Asil countered. "And what of the energy outside the barrier? We have no idea what forces we might encounter."

"OK, OK," Kinoshita cut in. "Traversing the Galactic Barrier may be a possibility but, hopefully, we'll get this thing solved before it's one we have to face. Now, are we any closer to determining whether our Commodore's consciousness has actually been absorbed by the Nexus, or how we can get him and the others out of there?"

Asil stared at her console screen. Rudy lowered his head.

Kinoshita nodded. "I see. Councilor, do you sense anything from that ribbon?"

Elbrun sighed. "There is life there, Captain," she said, her dark eyes deep with frustration. "But there is so much interference, I can't distinguish individuals. It's like staring at static - all I get is brief, fractured impressions of images that may or may not be real."

The Captain put an encouraging hand on her shoulder. "Well, keep trying," he said. "Devna, how long until we reach Romulan space?"

"At current speed, twenty-eight hours, sir," the Orion reported.

"Contact the Romulan Senate and request permission to pass through their territory. It's not technically necessary under the terms of the treaty, but a moment's politeness can save a week's paperwork, and I don't want anything getting in our way."

"Aye, sir," Devna said, and set about carrying out his orders.

"There wouldn't be a treaty if not for the Commodore," Rudy muttered. "They better let us through."

"Permission is granted, Captain," Devna reported, and Kinoshita smiled.

"Well, at least something's going our way today," he said. "Asil, I-"

"Captain!" Elbrun exclaimed, her hands at her temples. "There's someone...something...approaching. I...I can't quite make out..."

The space between Devna's tactical station and the primary turbolift pulsed and rippled. A form began to coalesce, vaguely humanoid...

Devna grabbed her phaser. "Security to the bridge!" she ordered.

The form finished shimmering and stepped forward; a fully materialized human man, perhaps sixty years old. The man was pale, of average height, slightly stocky, and dressed in a simple white shirt, tan vest, and loose tan trousers. His hair and beard were silver-gray, and neatly trimmed. Looking around at the faces of the wary crew, he smiled and said, "I should have known it would be a Federation ship causing all this trouble. You won't need that."

He seemed to flicker for a moment, and Devna's phaser was suddenly back in its holster, her hand empty.

"Or them."

He flickered again, and the turbolift arriving with the requested security officers was suddenly headed back where it had come from. The man glanced at the nearby computer readouts with the air of an expert, and his small smile broadened into a genuine grin.

"Ah, it's the _Enterprise_! Even better. Data commands this ship now, am I right?"

"Who are you?" Kinoshita demanded.

"Wesley Crusher, Traveler," the man said, holding out a friendly hand to the captain. Akira hesitated before briefly taking it. "I used to serve on a ship like this once, when I was very young," the man went on, wandering down the ramp to the lower bridge and stopping at the ship's registration plaque. "That ship was called the _Enterprise_ too."

"Look, Mister-"

"Crusher," the man said. "Wesley Crusher. Call Data if you want my credentials. He'll vouch for me. And while you're at it, remind him of what curiosity did to that proverbial cat."

"What are you talking about?"

"The Nexus," Crusher said. "My people have been detecting some very disturbing energy anomalies within the ribbon. I've been sent to get you to stop whatever it is you've been doing to it before the whole ribbon destabilizes in a great big blinding energy boom."

Kinoshita and Rudy shared a startled look. Asil rose to her feet.

"We have done nothing to the ribbon," the Vulcan stated. "But if you are familiar with Commodore Data, perhaps you could determine whether or not his consciousness is recoverable."

"Recoverable?" Crusher frowned, then his eyes widened in something like horror. "Wait, crap, no, don't tell me," he groaned. "There's been an accident. Your commodore got himself pulled into the Nexus. And now you're here trying to figure out how to get him back."

He clenched his fist and swore under his breath.

"The Nexus wasn't designed to admit machines, but Data's something different. His neural nets are so complex, so closely modeled on human neural patterns, the stupid ribbon might have misread his thought patterns as organic. If that happened..."

He trailed off and strode straight for the turbolift.

"Mr. Crusher," Kinoshita started, but the man brushed him off.

"I assume I'll find Data's body in sickbay?" he said.

"Mr. Crusher!" Kinoshita snapped, stopping the man in his tracks. "If you have served on a Federation starship, as you claim, then you know unauthorized personnel, such as yourself, cannot just-"

"Yeah, yeah, I know all about Starfleet rules, discipline, whatever," Crusher said. "Look, Captain..."

"Kinoshita," he said. "Akira Kinoshita."

"Captain Kinoshita," Crusher said impatiently. "My name is Wesley Crusher. I represent a consortium of highly advanced beings known as Travelers. We have been keeping a close eye on the Nexus ribbon since its inception in an attempt to minimize its impact on the species that encounter it, but never in all that time have we gotten readings as disturbing as the ones we're getting now. It's possible the strain of sustaining the consciousness of a mechanical being like Data is the cause of the instability, but I'll have to study the problem to be sure. Now, I can either do this with your help, or I can freeze all of you in time and conduct the full investigation on my own. Your choice, Akira. Make it quick."

_To Be Continued..._

_References include Star Trek: Generations, Star Trek: Nemesis, the Star Trek novels Immortal Coil, Cold Equations, and Imzadi, and TNG episodes Tin Man, Time's Arrow, Datalore, The Measure of a Man, Journey's End, and Where No One Has Gone Before. Holographic "viewing" adapted from Isaac Asimov's Robot series "The Caves of Steel," "The Naked Sun," and "The Robots of Dawn," featuring Elijah Baley and R. Daneel Olivaw._

_Note: "The Positronic Man" by Isaac Asimov and Robert Silverberg was based on Asimov's short story "The Bicentennial Man" and tells the tale of the NDR-series robot Andrew Martin as he seeks to attain the legal rights and status of a naturalized human being. It is, quite possibly, my favorite book of all time...perhaps tied with "The Little Prince." :)_


	15. Chapter 15

Hi! I'm back with more story! It's frustrating, but not much is known about the Nexus or the El'Aurians. As a result, much what follows is extrapolation liberally mixed with my own imagination and has no concrete basis in any universe other than the one I'm constructing here. Also, although several pseudo-canon theories have been put forward regarding Data's resurrection/reconstruction after _Nemesis_, including the sort of disturbing one in the "Cold Equations" novels, I added my own two cents into the mix here, along with some block-transfer equation stuff I borrowed from the classic _Doctor Who _episode "Logopolis." I think it fits because, in that story, block-transfer mathematics is used when space, time, and thought work together as one, and that's just what the Traveler claimed he could do in "TNG: Where No One Has Gone Before" - plot equations that had space, time, and thought working together as one. I wrote an awful lot more about the concept and use of block-transfer mathematics in my story "Doctor Who and the Nowhere Men." If you're interested, the relevant explanations can be found in Chapter Ten, Part I. I just hope you enjoy this next part, and I hope you like my new cover illustrations for this story, "Doctor Who and the Nowhere Men," "The Day The Earth Stood Back," and "An Unsung Hero"!

P.S. Akharin is a human-born immortal android creator from the TOS episode "Requiem for Methusela." He was featured in the Star Trek novel "Immortal Coil" (where he was one of Soong's professors and mentors) and the "Cold Equations" series (where he revived the Juliana android after her 'death' and brought her to live with him on an isolated world).

* * *

Chapter Fifteen

"The Nexus was initially developed by a highly advanced, exceptionally long-lived species in the Delta Quadrant as a last-ditch defense against the Borg," Crusher said, standing cross-armed in front of the sickbay's interactive holo-display wall as he reviewed the diagnostic scans Dr. Zipok had run on Data. Zipok, Kinoshita, and Rudo hovered nearby, none of them willing to let the brash intruder near their Commodore's body without their close supervision.

"Like my people, the Travelers, they prided themselves on being observers, listeners, and deplored violent conflict," Crusher went on, unphased by their wary attitude. "But unlike my people, who have embraced an existence beyond the physical limitations of space-time, the El-Aurians preferred to remain tied to this reality – this space-time continuum – and to the star system they called home."

"El-Aurians?" Kinoshita repeated. "You mean, Dr. Soran's people? _They_ made this Nexus?"

"But, weren't the El-Aurian refugees running from the Nexus themselves when the _Enterprise-B _came upon them?" Dr. Zipok said, not even trying to hide his distrust of the uninvited newcomer. "If they created the thing, then why—"

"They underestimated the Borg," Crusher said.

Turning from the display, the older man grabbed a medical tricorder and a couple of delicate-looking tools from a nearby shelf, and – before anyone could protest – opened an access panel in Data's head. He continued to talk as he gently probed the fine circuitry between the blinking diodes that worked continually beneath the android's tough, composite skull, pale synthoskin, and synthetic hair, his manner one of experience and expertise.

Dr. Zipok clenched his fists and rocked on his heels, but a glance from Kinoshita told him not to interfere. Yet.

"When the El-Aurians learned the Borg were headed their way, their first instinct was to avoid an outright confrontation," Crusher said. "They devised the concept of an intangible, unassailable energy web vast enough to encompass their whole world. This 'nexus' would convert not only the El-Aurian people, but all the El-Aurian animals and plants and even microorganisms from matter to energy. Their people would remain there, stored as pure thought, until it was safe to resume their physical forms. Confronted with an apparently empty planet, they hoped the Borg would move on, leaving their beloved star system unharmed."

"Sure didn't work out that way," Rudy muttered, glowering protectively over the Commodore's body.

"No," Crusher acknowledged, his eyes fixed on his work. "The Borg didn't just assimilate life forms. They assimilated technology, and natural resources. They also moved a lot faster than the sheltered El-Aurians had anticipated. The first Borg ships arrived in the El-Aurian system well before their scientists could finish linking up the nexus field. The El-Aurians had few military defenses and, while they had warp capability, they were never much for large-scale interstellar travel, preferring to send out lone scouts to observe other cultures and bring the knowledge home. Those who lived near spaceports packed into shuttles, but it was too little too late. Only a handful escaped. The rest were captured or destroyed.

"While the Borg busied themselves scooping up cities and carving the planet into digestible chunks, the surviving El-Aurian scientists hurriedly rewove the unfinished energy web that was to have been their salvation into a focused, powerful energy ribbon – a force that could pulverize planets. As their last act of independent will, they unleashed this ribbon, aiming it directly at the Borg homeworld, then killed themselves to keep the Borg from assimilating their knowledge of the ribbon and the complex block-transfer mathematics that had made it possible.

"The Borg planet was destroyed with no survivors, but the Borg were too spread out by then for the loss to matter much. The Borg machine world had become just one hub among thousands of uniform, homogenized control centers spread across the Delta Quadrant.

"The El-Aurian ribbon, though, has been traveling its set course since that time, circling back through this galaxy every thirty-nine years. And it took about that long for the first El-Aurian refugees to reach the Alpha Quadrant. Only then did they discover that, even in its distorted, weaponized form, the Nexus ribbon could still draw beings into its unique energy realm. Some saw it as a means of salvation, of escaping the pain of losing their families, their homeworld. But most recognized the Nexus for what it was: a prison for any being unfortunate enough to be drawn into its phantasmal continuum. A group of El-Aurian survivors contacted us and we Travelers have been keeping tabs on it ever since."

Crusher shook his head and closed the panel. Data's artificial skin sealed itself with no trace of a scar. Crusher scowled and slammed the tools back onto the shelf.

"Damn. From what I can see, everything checks out. All Data's systems are working perfectly. There's no physical reason why he shouldn't be standing up talking with us right now. Except…"

"Except what?" Kinoshita demanded.

"There's a lot about Data's positronic brain we don't know," Crusher admitted. "Even me, and I'm the one who – essentially – brought him back to life. See, Data's brain isn't just some static mechanical structure. It develops over time, forming new pathways and connections with every new experience. But, others on the team handled the technical construction. I restored the parts of his brain that allowed for the possibility of consciousness."

Rudo and Zipok shared a startled glance.

"Oh, you didn't know, did you," Crusher realized. "Guess Starfleet kept my part in the whole thing classified. Akharin's too, I hope. He was the one who requested our names be kept out of the records."

Crusher looked down at the Commodore's unnaturally still face. With his eyes closed, the pale man looked like he was sleeping. Just sleeping…

Data could sleep. He could even dream. His creator, Dr. Soong, had provided the android with a dream program – a mechanical subconscious that had even the Travelers marveling. Soong had locked it away, kept it dormant, one of the myriad unrecorded enigmas he'd built into Data's brain, then left for his son to uncover and puzzle out on his own.

When the Federation's experts had announced their intention to resurrect Data, Wesley had made sure he'd been there, on site, right from the start. Skilled as they were, Wesley had known those cyberneticists, programmers, and engineers would never be able to reproduce all the disconnected and, often, undocumented spurts of innovative genius that had resulted in all the loopy, inexact layers of programming, backtracking, overwriting, branching, linking, and general obsessive tinkering Soong had worked into his creation. They thought too linearly.

Soong's designs and programs had been wholly organic, wholly unique, the result of a single mind living his work and working almost entirely alone. More significantly, they had practically nothing to do with the stacks of neat and tidy blueprints, schematics, and equations the man had sketched over and over again in his notebooks – sketches Wesley had taken to be absentminded doodles rather than concrete plans. The only real blueprint for Data's positronic brain had been Data's own, physical, positronic brain, and that had been blown to radioactive dust when the android had sacrificed himself to save the Federation, and the Romulans, from Shinzon.

The Federation's scientists had seemed to think that reconstructing Data would be as straightforward as rebuilding a smashed replicator. Acquire and assemble all the right parts in the right order and - voila! - the whole would be restored, good as new. They had Data's brother, B-4, to help them after all, the prototype android most assumed Dr. Soong had constructed before he'd built Lore and Data (although some believed it more likely that B-4 - like the Shinzon clone of Captain Picard - had been part of a failed attempt by the Romulans to 'copy' top Starfleet officers, and that both creations had been discarded on Remus when they proved 'unusable.') Very shortly before his death - a death he had not foreseen - Data had uploaded his memories into B-4's primitive positronic brain, hoping that giving his brother access to the experiences and facts he had accumulated would aid the much simpler prototype in his own cognitive development.

But memories alone did not make a personality, nor did they provide any practical insight into the subtle and delicate workings of Data's positronic brain. Data himself had been in the dark about its more mysterious functions, including his dream program, which had been activated accidentally when Data had been subjected to a powerful plasma shock in Engineering. No, Wesley had known at a glance: transferring data from B-4's brain into a new construct would not be the equivalent of transferring Data - mind and soul - from B-4 to a new body. Data's decision to share his memories with his developmentally-challenged brother had been an attempt to provoke B-4's brain to form its _own_ new mental pathways, its _own_ more sophisticated neural links. It had not been a transfer of Data's consciousness, or - as the Vulcans would say - of Data's _katra_ into his brother's mind. Even if such a thorough synaptic transfer could have been accomplished, to impose the consciousness of one sapient, sentient being on the mind of another was to invite madness, and it was a severe ethical violation Data would not have endorsed.

All of which had meant Data was gone; his unique mind, personality, and the brain that had housed them swallowed up by the explosion that had killed him. Only Wesley's photo-sharp memories remained; his experience watching at Data's side as he'd programmed his android daughter, Lal; and what little the team could glean from Data's schematics, his diagnostic records and the records he had kept on Lal's development, B-4, and the far more streamlined and straightforward positronic brain design Soong had developed to house the cognizance of Data's mother: Soong's late wife, Juliana.

But, while Juliana's brain did share the same basic framework as Data's, it was also inherently different - a fact both she and her husband, Akharin, readily admitted. Soong had designed and programmed her for a specific purpose: to continue the life his wife had lost. Her brain had never been programmed with a personality matrix like Data's or Lore's, or even B-4's; rather, Soong had imprinted her neural net with detailed scans of his wife's synaptic signatures.

Dr. Soong had never intended Data to house someone else's personality. He'd meant him to explore his own; an entirely unique machine consciousness as self-aware, self-conscious, and self-determined as any organic, humanoid mind. Data was created for his own sake, to live his own life, to experience and evaluate the universe on his own terms. He was an accomplishment both selfless and selfish – the ultimate justification of Soong's troubled and difficult life. How could anyone else even hope to reconstruct, then revive, such an exceptionally singular being...without the aid of block-transfer computations? To Wesley's mind, it was impossible.

In some ways, the algorithms Soong had incorporated into Data's programming were shockingly unsophisticated, in others they'd demonstrated leaps of logic and creativity the Federation's top experts were still struggling to unravel. Angered to see those same linear-minded experts treat Data's schematics like a mere instruction manual for some massively complicated model kit – a method that completely ignored the imaginative artistry of the design, and the secretive, paranoid quirks of its socially-challenged creator – Wesley had stepped in with his own creative genius and his well honed transdimensional abilities to ensure Data's unique brain was reproduced correctly, and in its entirety: seemingly purposeless constructs, mysteriously dormant circuitry and all. He'd then used the Travelers' deep understanding of multidimensional block-transfer mathematics to translate his thoughts and memories into a tool – a set of equations essential to reawakening the quirky, nuanced, endearing personality he had loved from childhood as a mentor and a friend.

"Data…"

Wesley smoothed back the android's dark hair, feeling an angry, possessive irritation wash through him.

"You brave, noble idiot," he said. "You have no idea how special you really are, do you. How hard we all worked to bring you back. Me and Geordi, Akharin and Juliana, Bruce and Reg. You should have listened to Starfleet Command, taken that post as Commandant of Starfleet Academy. But, you've always been an explorer at heart, haven't you. Curiosity like yours couldn't stay planet-bound for long. Not when you could command the _Enterprise…_"

He sighed and looked up at Data's officers, noting their wary expressions had softened to something far more compassionate.

"He's not in there," Crusher said, straightening his posture and crossing his arms over his chest. "But, if his mental energy has been transferred to the Nexus, I'm going to need some serious help to get him out. I'm good - real good - but that crazy ribbon's too much for my computational powers to handle alone, especially with the instability I've been tracking."

Dr. Zipok stepped forward.

"I must admit that all this matter/energy business is well beyond me," he said. "I'm trained in physical medicine, not philosophy or any sort of quantum complexities. The metaphysical quandaries of existence are outside the purview of a practical surgeon. But, in basic terms, Mr. Crusher, if you do find our Commodore in the Nexus, would you be able to restore him?"

Crusher chewed the inside of his cheek.

"I'm not sure," he admitted. "His body's functioning just fine, but close exposure to the Nexus could have damaged his brain at a subatomic level in ways your instruments can't readily detect." He shook his head. "Until we do find him, it's impossible to know if this brain is salvageable. If it isn't... Well, there are options, but I wouldn't worry just yet."

"Then, what's our next step?" Kinoshita said. "The _Enterprise_ is at your disposal should you – "

"No," Wesley said with a small, humorless smile. "Where I'm going, I'm afraid the _Enterprise _can't follow. Just keep up your present course. Follow that ribbon. And keep Data's body safe until I return."

"Are you going back to the Travelers?" Rudy asked.

"This is too big for them," he said. "But don't worry. Data's made some powerful friends in his time. And I know one in particular who still owes him a pretty big favor."

Crusher flashed an enigmatic grin, then closed his eyes and flickered out of sickbay, out of the _Enterprise_ and into a continuum quite different from the universe where he was born.

_To Be Continued..._

Next Time: Data and Worf finally confront each other in the Nexus. And what of Alexander? Stay tuned! :)

_References for this chapter include the movies "Generations" and "Nemesis" (both of which contain more irritating holes and breaches than a ripped and rusty screen window) and the TNG episodes "Datalore," "The Schizoid Man (in which Dr. Ira Graves transferred his 'consciousness' into Data's brain: a recognized and eloquently denounced violation that nearly ended up overwriting Data's personality)," "The Measure of a Man," "The Offspring," "Brothers," "The Game (in which Wesley showed detailed familiarity with the workings of Data's brain)," "Birthright," "Phantasms," "Inheritance," "Thine Own Self (in which Data lost his memory - even of being an android - but remained inherently 'Data')," and "Unification" (in which Picard and Data traveled to Romulus on a Search for Spock. Continuity-wise, I tend to think the Romulans grew Shinzon from the slurpy backwash Picard left on his soup spoon at that Romulan cafe, and the Romulans could have made any number of surreptitious scans of Data while he was there; hence B-4. I deeply dislike the movie "Nemesis" though, on many levels, so that's pretty much as far as I care to speculate about it.)  
_

_Until next time, thanks so much for reading! :)_


	16. Chapter 16

OK, so my friend – the one who originally set me this writing challenge even though I literally have to _beg_ her to read the story and she _never_ leaves me any reviews (_I know you're not reading this, but you know who you are!_) – has proclaimed she won't read any more story stuff I send her unless Q makes his appearance right away. And so, since this whole story and its framing conditions is her fault anyway, I have rearranged things to accede to her wishes. Now it'll be Q first, _then_ the swordfight, even though I'd been planning on getting some Alexander stuff in before introducing Q to the mix. My devious friend knows just how to play on my weakness for a compelling challenge… _Evil!_ LOL!

Hope you like this next part!

* * *

Chapter Sixteen

For a man whose entire conception of reality, physicality, and his own being had always relied on the physical and mathematical laws of "normal" spacetime, merely wrapping his mind around the prospect of leaving the known, material universe was exceedingly difficult. Actually doing it; literally abandoning his familiar form and manifesting in accordance with the laws and expectations of a completely foreign dimension… Well, suffice it to say such a feat required more than imagination and an open mind.

A lot more.

And, fundamentally challenging though it was, merely achieving the dimensional transfer was no guarantee that his mind would survive the manifestation process…

…without a few cracks.

The extradimensional plane the Q inhabited was beyond the comprehension of most humanoid cultures – including those considered to be mathematically advanced. Even Wesley, with all the experience he had garnered living, learning and thinking as a Traveler, found it entirely impossible to conceptualize the Continuum as it actually was. The reality of the dimension was so different, so fundamentally _alien,_ that his mind, in struggling to process the information it received, automatically invented familiar-seeming reference points he could not subvert: shapes, sounds, smells – an overlay of subconscious sensory expectations that, together, molded his perceptions and shaped his experience of movement, change, duration, height, width, depth and even temperature. The image created was inherently false, but Wesley lacked the sensory sophistication necessary to process the reality around him. He felt like a young child trying to piece together the plot and action of a foreign language play by watching fleeting shadows ripple across a lake.

Were the shadows reflected from above? Underneath? Were the players on a raft? In a tree? Dancing on the shore? Swinging from balloons? Were they mermaids? Birds? Streaks of lightening? Sparkles of dust? Was he seeing one being, or many, many, many, many, many...?

Screaming disorientation rocked him, reeled him, overwhelmed him and left him frozen, helpless and staring, unable to concentrate or even cry out for help.

Until...

Something enveloped him - a vibrant, terrifying sensation he tasted with his eyes, heard with his fingers, felt with his ears. A platform coalesced, black like polished obsidian, reflecting a vast, slowly spinning starscape. Wesley took in a sharp breath and stumbled back, reassuringly reencased in his own living, pulsing form of bones and muscles, blood and organs. And, he wasn't alone.

A young man crouched, staring, his brown hair a mop of tangled curls above his triangular face. He wore a uniform of blue and gold that Wesley couldn't quite place. It had an antique feel, as if inspired by Earth's distant past, and included a long, slender sword he wore strapped to his waist.

"Oh, Father," the young man called over his shoulder, blue eyes glittering with mischief. Wesley suddenly felt like an ant trapped under a child's magnifying glass. "Father, you will never believe what I just caught! It's a spy! A genuine spy, manifest here from the lower dimensions! Can I keep it, Father dearest? Please, pretty please? I promise I won't play too rough..."

"That's no spy, my boy," came a snide voice, seeming to reverberate from everywhere and nowhere all at once. "Just look at it. Why, it's little more than a primitive chordate. With its puny nervous system and the pathetic network of biological neurons it calls a brain, that pitiful creature could no more understand our frame of reference than a lowly earthworm could comprehend the works of Shakespeare - even if it ate the book!"

"Then, how did it get here, Father?" the young man asked.

"It's not the _how_ that interests me, Tre. It's the _why,"_ the snide voice said.

A diamond-shaped flash left Wesley blinking spots from his eyes. When it faded, a tall man stood in its place; pale and middle-aged with thinning, brown hair. At first glance, he seemed completely average, but there was nothing average about the deep, unearthly intensity Wesley saw in that man's eyes…

"Hello, Q," he said.

"Wesley Crusher!" the being greeted with theatrically false geniality. "Fancy finding you here! Tell me, how have those Traveler chappies been treating you? I'd imagine they've been quite accommodating to their little human pet. And all you had to do to earn your place as their privileged curiosity was…what? Betray your Captain? Turn your back on your shipmates? Walk away from your Starfleet responsibilities? But, you've done all that before, haven't you, Wesley? Ah, of course you have! When you and your flying buddies conspired to cover up the death of your classmate."

Q strode in so close his smirk was all Wesley could see. "I always knew you'd wash out of the Academy, Wes," he hissed in the man's ear. "You may have fooled Picard, but I could tell from the start: you didn't have the right stuff."

"Why are you doing this, Q?" Wesley said, refusing to let himself rise to the being's taunts. "Really, what's that point? I risked my mind, my _sanity_, to find you. I think the least you could do is hear me out!"

Q chuckled.

"Aw, isn't that cute! The wittle Twaveler actually thought his mind was at risk! And you call yourself a genius," he scoffed. "Exactly what part of _omnipotent_ don't you understand, Wunderkind? Or, have you not read that part of the Travelers' brochure, where it says we Q are 'All Knowing, All Seeing?' I knew you'd be headed here before you'd even formed the thought. If I hadn't, you never would have manifested – anywhere. Ever. The Continuum doesn't exactly _allow_ extradimensional intrusions, you know. Especially when perpetrated by fumbling novices who can't even conceptualize, let alone navigate, our reality plane."

Wesley swallowed, shaken by a terrible certainty that Q was telling the truth.

"Then you must know why I—"

"That debt is paid!" Q snapped, his eyes frighteningly bright. "I paid it long ago. I owe your android friend nothing."

"What about your friendship?" Wesley shot back. "Data almost died to save your life. And what did you give him in return? A one-off belly laugh?"

"It's what he wanted."

"Yes, Data wanted to laugh," Wesley said. "But not alone. Your so-called 'gift' made him a joke, an isolated spectacle, something to be laughed _at._ Data wanted to laugh _with _his friends, to _share_ in their fun and camaraderie. You didn't give him that. You didn't give him anything of any real value or substance. That's why I say your debt to him still stands. And that's why I know if I went to your superiors, they would side with my interpretation over yours."

Q glared.

"Is that a threat, little man?"

"Why?" Wesley countered. "Do you feel threatened?"

In a sudden mood change, the mercurial being laughed brightly and slapped Wesley on the shoulder.

"You could learn from this man, son," he called to the curly-haired being, who had been drinking in the whole exchange with eager curiosity. "This little mortal knows full well that I stand ready and willing to blink him out of existence at a whim, but does he cringe and cower and beg my favor? Heck no! He stands there and scolds me – actually scolds _me_ – for supposedly failing to fulfill some obscure social obligation demanded by his primitive mammalian culture. Not only that, but he clearly feels fully justified in delivering this tongue-lashing, even while trapped inside a bubble dimension of my own creation!"

"Well, _I_ devised the trap that brought him here," the young man said a little petulantly. "But, I don't understand, Father. Why would such a fragile, finite little thing even dare to confront you like this?"

"Gumption, my boy," Q said in his expansive manner. "Coupled with an outrageously overinflated notion of his own value – and the value of his species – to the cosmos that would rightly be considered insane if it wasn't so childishly adorable."

He shot Wesley a toothy, condescending smile that the human met with a scowl.

"This isn't about me, or my species," he said. "It's about Data. The android who went out of his way to shield you from the wrath of the Calamarain when your precious Continuum stripped you of your powers and left you to your fate: trapped in the form of a cringing, terrified mortal!"

Q's son blinked at his father in surprise, and Q's pale face actually began to flush. Wesley's scowl turned into a smirk as he pressed on.

"Data stood up for you. He spoke up in your defense when Captain Picard and everyone else on the _Enterprise _doubted your word and questioned your motives. And when your enemies came to kill you – as you knew they would – Data didn't hesitate to put your safety ahead of his own. He saved your life, Q. And now, he's in trouble. Real trouble that I can't handle. Not on my own. Data's consciousness has been drawn into the Nexus ribbon, and I don't know how to get him out. The ribbon doesn't work for him like it does for organic beings – it was never designed to cope with a mechanical consciousness. And now, the ribbon's destabilizing, fast, and it's going to take him with it unless you help him. Please, Q. You can't just stand by and let Data die. Not when you can save him with a thought."

"An endearing and impassioned plea, Wes, but again you seem to have overlooked the obvious," Q said. "I am _omnipotent_. _Omniscient_. As such, I am, have been, and always will be decided on this point. Still, the very fact that you made the attempt to embroil me in your linear, lower-dimensional problems says something about you. It says even more about Data. Go back to your ship, my aging Wunderkind. I'll be seeing you…in time…"

* * *

Wesley opened his eyes to find himself back on the _Enterprise_ bridge, surrounded by the worried faces of Data's crew.

"Where did you go?" Rudy demanded.

"Were you able to call in that favor you mentioned?" Asil asked.

"I'm not sure," Wesley said. "But, I think I might have gotten through..."

_To Be Continued..._

_References for this chapter include TNG: "Deja Q," "The First Duty," "Where No One Has Gone Before," and "Journey's End," TOS: "The Squire of Gothos," VOY: "The Q and the Grey," and the TNG novel "Q-Squared."_

_NOTE: Lady Q, with whom Q had a kid on _Voyager_ in "The Q and the Grey," was played by actress Suzie Plakson, who also played the Vulcan, Dr. Selar, in TNG "The Schizoid Man," and Alexander's half-human, half-Klingon mom, Ambassador K'Ehleyr in TNG "The Emissary," and "Reunion." Kind of interesting, don't you think? :)_

_Reviews are to a broke student author as sweet water is to a parched desert wanderer. Thank you for taking the time to share yours with me. :)_


	17. Chapter 17

**Hi! Just so you know, CHAPTER 16 IS THE NEW CHAPTER, NOT THIS ONE. This here is the tiny chapter I posted last time. For the sake of continuity, and because RisingEmber had a point, I swapped the positions of chapters 16 and 17. :) Now the Wes parts are together and the Data/Worf/and soon Alexander parts will be together. I hope you like the Q stuff. He'll be showing up again...later...but no hints as to what role - if any - he'll decide to play. :)  
**

Chapter Seventeen

Data regarded the charging Klingon for just under 0.58 seconds, gauging every aspect of his approach from speed to balance before sliding his eyes to Guinan, his lips stretched in a wry little smile.

"You say if we are to lure Worf from this fantasy, we must engage him on his terms?"

"And on his turf," Guinan said, not quite sure what to make of the android's expression. "But, Data, I don't think he'll be open to any rational arguments just now…"

"I do not intend to argue with him," the android said, already moving, positioning himself protectively between Guinan and the approaching aggressor. "This is clearly a situation where actions would be more effective than words."

"You don't mean you're going to-"

"Yes," Data said, and flashed her a rather wolfish grin. "Worf has made the challenge. I intend to meet it. His way."

Guinan stepped behind one of the Klingon ship's landing struts. "This is going to be interesting..."

Data didn't get many opportunities to exercise his innate agility. His duties as a Starfleet Commodore rarely required more than the minimum average range of humanoid speed and flexibility, and his training as a science officer on the command track had always emphasized intellectual ability over physical. Even when off duty, Data preferred sedentary games of strategy such as poker, chess or Strategema, artistic endeavors, and solving mysteries on the holodeck to more athletic pursuits.

Here though, for some reason he could not articulate, he found himself wanting to fight. He wanted to meet Worf in combat, blow for blow. Perhaps it was the frustration of being trapped in the Nexus with no way to contact his ship, perhaps it was his talk with Alexander, or maybe it was just a side-effect of taking part in Worf's dreamscape, but the sight of Worf's snarling charge had ignited a slow burning anger inside him.

An anger that demanded confrontation.

_To Be Continued..._

Until next time, thanks again for reading! Reviews are always welcome! :)


	18. Chapter 18

**And now...**

**A swordfight!**

* * *

Chapter Eighteen

The clash of steel on steel reverberated through the clearing, the combatants' weapons reflecting the sunlight that filtered through the haze of humidity. The Nexus, being a realm of dreams, had provided Data with an intimidating broadsword, while Worf now wielded his favored bat'leth – the Klingon 'sword of honor': a curved, spiked weapon that followed the motions of his arm like a retractable, metal claw.

Shaded by the Klingon ship, Guinan rolled her eyes, but couldn't suppress the smile that twitched at her lips. She had never seen Data like this before. The normally prim, polite, perfectly postured android had thrown himself into battle with theatrical enthusiasm: ducking, dodging, lunging, parrying and thrusting with a nimble flair worthy of Stewart Granger or Errol Flynn. He didn't sweat, but the thick, jungle humidity lent his skin a golden sheen, and his dark hair had shaken loose from its perpetually swept-back style, making him look disheveled and amusingly roguish.

But, while Data seemed to be thoroughly engrossed in the experience, Worf approached the fight with a grim, surly glower, his jagged teeth clenched in a murderous scowl. His moves were heavy and lateral; aggressive, pounding blows that kept Data moving back, spinning away, forcing him to renew his approach from different angles. Watching the pair was like watching a looming storm cloud expand to engulf a flitting pool of light. Until, the commodore began to speak.

"Hack, hack, hack; is that the best you've got?" the android taunted, his golden eyes fixed on Worf's rigid, angry countenance. He snagged the Klingon's blade, bringing the two of them almost nose to nose. "What's wrong, Worf? Why do you not smile? Are we not engaged in honorable combat? Does Klingon culture not view this as a joyful endeavor; a means of cleansing and enriching the spirit?"

Worf roared and ripped his blade away, returning with a high, downward swing. Data deflected the blow, though it left a significant notch in his own weapon. He knit his brows together.

"Curious," he said, as he resumed his own attack. "Is all this anger directed at me, personally, or is your mind so deeply embedded in this created reality that you cannot discern my identity?"

"_I will not be mocked!_"

Worf hammered at the android's blade, and Data blinked at the force of the assault.

"It was not my intention to mock you."

"Stop talking!" Worf thundered.

"No, I'm afraid I can't oblige you, there," Data said, twisting to parry another hacking blow – this one from the side. "My purpose is to snap you out of this fantasy. I would prefer to achieve this aim with words, as I have no wish to injure you, but if you persist in ignoring my efforts, I may have to become…aggressive. Now tell me: who exactly do you think I am?"

"This foolish distraction will not succeed. You cannot block my path!" the Klingon snarled.

"Distraction, am I?" Data scoffed. "A distraction from what, precisely? What path do you currently believe yourself to be on? And what role do those two women play?" He gestured with his chin to the hazy shades standing beneath the trees. "Their forms are too transparent to enable me to make an accurate identification from this distance, but judging from their respective height and build, and the present context, I would hazard a guess that they represent the spirits of the late Ambassador K'Ehleyr and Lt. Commander Jadz—"

"I said _BE SILENT!_" Worf roared, his words reinforced by a metallic clash. "…irritating, obnoxious, pretentious, imitative, prattling _machine…!"_

Data's eyes widened, and he redoubled his attack, forcing Worf to take the defensive for the first time since the fight began.

"Stooping to personal insults is most unbecoming, Mr. Worf," he said coldly, pushing the Klingon back, closer to the ship. "Especially when I consider all I have risked to find you."

Worf snarled in frustration and roughly hooked Data's sword with his blade, pulling the surprisingly heavy android slightly forward as he spun away, back into the open.

Data straightened to his customary posture and tilted his head.

"You always were a puzzle to me, Worf," he said, and moved to close the gap between them with an easy parry, followed by a powerful riposte. "I always considered us to be kindred spirits, yet these past years you have rejected or ignored every overture of friendship and camaraderie I have offered you. Why is that, Worf?"

The Klingon's only answer was to increase the ferocity of his slashing blows. Data met each one with matching strength, but his enthusiasm for the battle was clearly flagging.

"I invited you to the launch of the _Enterprise-G_, three years ago," he said. "It was not easy to ensure the message would make its way directly to your hands. It seems you allowed few personal communiques to reach your desk. Most were answered by your aides. Yet, to my invitation – which I know for a fact you received and opened – you sent no reply at all."

Worf grunted. Data pressed on.

"Why did you not come? Nearly everyone else from the old _Enterprise D _and_ E _crews was there. Will, Deanna, Geordi, Beverly, the O'Briens – even Wesley and Ambassador Picard. The survivors from the _Enterprise-F _attended as well. It was a marvelous party. We missed you a great deal, Worf."

Worf's attack didn't pause, or even slow. Data's expression seemed to flicker, his curiosity fading to something far more pensive.

"Was it me? Were you avoiding me? If so, I fail to understand what I may have done to deserve your animosity."

Worf bellowed and lashed out with a sweeping move that would have sliced a slower man in two. Data just cocked an eyebrow and pinched the flashing blade between his thumb and forefinger, stopping it dead in mid-swing.

"Hmph," he said mildly.

Worf seemed on the verge of apoplexy, but instead of attempting to pull the weapon free, he pushed the trapped blade toward the android with all his strength. Data sidestepped the sharp spikes, and the blade cut into the hard ground, becoming deeply wedged. Worf roared.

"Enough of this charade! _You_ are not real!"

"Indeed?" Data said, leaning casually on the hilt of his own sword. "Then, why-"

"Data–!" Guinan warned, but the shades of Jadzia and K'Ehleyr already flanked him. The two warriors had melted into being from the hazy air, both armed with long, Klingon phaser rifles pointed directly at the android's chest.

Data looked decidedly nonplussed.

"Nice," he said to Worf.

Worf grunted and marched toward the narrow ladder that led to the Bird-of-Prey's cockpit. Data frowned, glanced at the two threatening women, then reached out with preternatural speed, his movements almost too fast for Guinan to register. He crushed one rifle barrel in each hand, then pulled, sending the two armored women staggering into each other before he swung around to block Worf's path.

"I cannot allow you to board this ship, Worf," he said.

Worf bared his teeth in his fiercest snarl, but Data's expression did not change.

"You know you cannot force me to move against my will. Sooner or later, you will have to talk to me. You will have to acknowledge what your mind is already whispering – that I am here, and I am real."

Worf muttered something disparaging about Kahless the Unforgettable that Data was too polite to translate fully. Something about the pitiless hero finding amusement in cursing the already damned…

Data wrinkled his forehead, his expression one of wary enlightenment.

"Is that how you perceive yourself, Worf?" he said. "As one of the damned? And this... Have you imagined your soul to be engaged in a Quest to attain entry to Sto-vo-kor?"

Worf's nostrils flared and he stormed away.

"Worf," Data called after him. "Worf, listen to me! Is that what all this has been about? Are you somehow _ashamed_ to face your old friends?"

Worf didn't answer. He just circled the ship, seeking another, unblocked entrance.

"But…but, _why_ Worf?" Data insisted, appearing right in front of his face. Worf grunted in surprise and jumped back, actively hating the genuine concern he saw in the android's golden eyes.

"Worf, you have enjoyed one of the most honorable Starfleet careers on record," Data said. "You have fought to save both the Federation and the Klingon Empire from their respective enemies on multiple campaigns, and you have been successful. You are a decorated, respected warrior, a former member of the High Council, an Imperially appointed colonial Governor, universally honored and admired as a strong and capable leader. Your reputation is the stuff of legend among Academy cadets. By all rights, both Federation and Klingon tradition would place you among the highest ranks of the honored dead. I cannot fathom why your subconscious has placed you here, as an old man forced to undertake the Quest to prove his soul has worth. Unless…"

"You talk a great deal, _Commodore_," Worf rumbled. "But, you understand nothing."

"No. No, I believe the threads are beginning to come together now," Data said, stubbornly encroaching on Worf's personal space, as if _asking_ the taller Klingon to lose control. "It is not your myriad successes and commendations informing your current mental state, but your handful of failures, am I not correct? After all, what does it matter that you were instrumental in saving the Federation from the Borg, stopping the Dominion Invasion, and forestalling Klingon civil war time and again, when you were incapable of preventing the deaths of Jadzia and K'Ehleyr?"

Worf's dark eyes blazed and he slugged Data hard across the jaw. Data let him, allowing his neck just enough give to avoid breaking Worf's knuckles.

"I infer from your reaction that I have found...the right button to push," Data said. "And, what of Alexander?"

"What of him?" Worf snapped.

"You believe you have failed him too, do you not?" the android pressed. "If that is the case, I'm afraid I must inform you that I concur. You do not seem to realize how very fortunate you are. Unlike my dear daughter, who only survived for two short weeks, your son is alive and healthy, and he harbors a great respect for you, despite the neglectful attitude you have, unfortunately, adopted. You have been most unfair to him."

Worf looked like he was about ready to slug Data again, but at the last moment his lips parted in a cold, toothy grimace.

"My son is self-sufficient," he growled. "I did not coddle him, like a human parent. I allowed him to learn for himself what it is to be a responsible adult."

"By cutting yourself out of his life?" Data retorted, more affronted than Worf had ever seen him. "When was the last time you told your son you love him, Worf? That you're proud of him? Have you ever?"

"Alexander does not require praise from me!" Worf rumbled. "A Klingon is his work, not his family. That is the way of things. An honored Ambassador should not be forced to shoulder the burden of feeling beholden to a useless old man whose future holds only a slow wait for a peaceful death. A death without honor."

Data frowned, but Guinan let out a loud scoff, gliding out of the shadows to scowl at Worf.

"You really have gone senile if you've allowed that kind of archaic thinking to stand between you and your son," the El-Aurian snapped. "The Empire's changed, Worf, and you know it. A true Klingon is now defined by the life he has lived, not the manner of his death. What's the real reason you don't want to face Alexander?"

"I have told you," Worf growled.

"You gave an excuse, not a reason," Guinan retorted. She turned her deep, dark eyes toward the shade of K'Ehleyr and kept them there until Worf looked too. "The real reason is not so easy to admit."

She glanced back at him, her expression somewhat softer.

"He is very much her son, isn't he, Worf," she said. "Even without her there to guide him, teach him, nurture him, he still developed her temper, her sense of humor, her passion. It's her you see when you look at him now, carrying on her ambassadorial legacy. Not yourself. Her. The woman you loved. The woman you couldn't protect. The guilt...the anger you feel toward her for dying, for leaving you alone with this small, fragile, needy creature with her eyes, her smile-"

"ENOUGH," Worf snarled.

"You never did take the Oath with her, did you, Worf?"

"We did not have the chance," the Klingon rumbled. "But I did not tell Alexander that. I let him assume..."

He shook away his distant expression, his features again hardening into an angry mask.

"What does any of this matter? My son does not need me. For anything!" he snapped. "Alexander has found a true place for himself within the Empire, and on the Homeworld. His mate is a full-blooded Klingon from a prominent and prosperous House. They both enjoy honorable careers. Why should I wish to interfere with my son's success? What right have I to shame him by revealing his father to be a fading warrior with no battles left to fight?"

Data blinked.

"I believe your supposition is deeply flawed," he said. "On many levels."

Worf shot him a blazing glare, but the android didn't flinch.

"Need I remind you, Worf, that Alexander was raised in the Federation, and maintains Federation values?" he said. "By removing yourself from his life, you have caused him to doubt himself, and his value to a father he dearly loves, but does not know how to reach. If you were willing to communicate, you would find him quite eager to share your remaining years with you, as a family unit. In addition, you are hardly in a situation bereft of conflict. Have you not yet determined where you are?"

"Where I am is irrelevant," Worf said, growing increasingly frustrated. "My past is irrelevant, and nostalgia is a trite _human_ sentiment that has no place in the _Klingon_ heart. What matters is I have a mission to fulfill, and you are _still _blocking my way. Stand aside!"

Data rolled his eyes in exasperation.

"So that's it. You know, Worf, you really can be a bone-headed jackass when you want to be."

"And you," Worf glared, "are starting to sound just like your brother Lore!"

Data looked stricken, then he shook his head with a very small smile.

"Ah – you are attempting to wound me emotionally by drawing out my own personal demons," he said. "But, my brother Lore would not have cared enough about the fate of a former shipmate to put an ongoing mission on hold in order to head his search-and-rescue operation. I do. I told you many years ago, and the sentiment still holds true, no matter how stubborn you are. I _care_ about you, Worf. I _worry_ about your well being, even after all these years apart. What _really_ wounds me is finding you here, in so much pain."

"_You_," Worf said, digging a finger into the android's chest, "are an annoying pest."

"You're welcome," Data said, and grinned.

Worf scowled, but his anger seemed to be fading a little. What was Kahless thinking, putting this jabbering image of Data in his way? The android was relentless, tireless – the one opponent he had always known he could never outfight in hand-to-hand combat. And Guinan?! What could possibly be the purpose of-

Unless, that was the clue. Perhaps, these obstacles, he wasn't meant to fight. Perhaps the real challenge was to listen.

The prospect made him grumble under his breath.

"What do you want of me?" Klingon demanded, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Your help," Data told him. "But, first, you will have to acknowledge that all this," he gestured to the clearing, the jungle, the ship, "is an illusion. None of it is real. Well, except for me. And Guinan. And you, Worf. Because, you see, this entire, elaborate scenario is predicated on one central, yet inescapable flaw – a flaw that, once exposed, must by necessity unravel the Nexus-generated fantasy you have been living up to this point."

"Oh? And what flaw is that?"

"You are not dead."

_To Be Continued..._

* * *

_References include TNG "The Icarus Factor," "Heart of Glory," "Rightful Heir," "Ethics," and "Reunion." _

_ Hi! I feel like I've been picking at this chapter forever, and I'm still not sure I'm happy with it. I decided to post it anyway and let you be the judge. Guess what: first review on this chapter will be the fiftieth for this story! Wow! Thanks so much for your thoughts on my work and thank you for reading! Until next time! :)_


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